


Full Moon

by swimmingwolf59



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Romance, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingwolf59/pseuds/swimmingwolf59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto believes his life is nothing out of the ordinary. But when he finds a mysterious beaten up and unconscious man in an alleyway, and decides to care to his wounds, that ordinary life disappears forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Accident

Takeshi Yamamoto had never expected his life to be anything out of the usual. He looked the part of the Japanese stereotype; black hair that looked auburn in the light, brown eyes, tanned skin. He had a common name, he played professional baseball. Just your average guy.

But that all changed when he met Hayato Gokudera. That night was the one that changed his life forever.

Walking down the street after practice one night, Yamamoto stretched his arms in a rather cheerful mood. He’d had a good practice today; pitched past his speed record, all of his hits had been solid, and best of all he hadn’t gotten injured! Yamamoto never took for granted that he hadn’t been injured after a game or practice. After all, getting hit by an 80+ MPH fastball wasn’t the most painless experience.

Looking casually to the side, Yamamoto happened to glance into a nearby alley. There was nothing unusual about the alley; it looked like every other alley on the block.

But something caught Yamamoto’s eye.

There was a flash of silver, just visible over the top of one of the green trashcans. Usually, it could be assumed that it was just a scrap of metal that had fallen out of someone’s recycling bin. But this wasn’t the color of metal. It was a light and silky silver that held no resemblance to the harsh gleam of metal.

Peaking Yamamoto’s interest, the baseball player changed his course of direction and made his way over to the piece of silver.

What he saw shocked him.

The silver was actually hair and it was attached to a man. But this man wasn’t just lying in the alley because he felt like it; he was unconscious or maybe even dead. He had deep cuts and bruises all over his face and body, a deep gash on his forehead, a black eye, and his arm was bending in an angle that was not natural.

Rushing over to the man, knocking over some trashcans in the process, Yamamoto took the man’s pulse. Thankfully, it was still beating strong. As soon as he knew the man was alive, Yamamoto knew he couldn’t just leave him there.

Not caring what it looked like to the few pedestrians still walking along the streets nor how much blood he’d get on his sweat jacket, Yamamoto picked the man up bridal style. The man moaned slightly, making Yamamoto wince and hope he wasn’t putting the other in too much pain. Well, at least he couldn’t feel it since he was unconscious.

He carried the silver haired man down the street, heading in the direction of his home. He’d had the fleeting thought of taking the man to the hospital, but quickly canceled out the idea. If this man had been beaten to unconsciousness and almost close to death, as it looked, then he definitely didn’t want to be found by the same people. Checking into the hospital would get the man’s name on record when he regained consciousness. Also, if the man freaked out when he didn’t know where he was, at least he wouldn’t feel threatened by the restrains the hospital would probably put onto him.

And so, Yamamoto took the man to his house.

As he opened the door with some difficulty and managed to get inside to lay the bleeding man on his couch, he realized just how beautiful the man was. His silver hair was absolutely beautiful and it shined against the man’s pale skin. Yamamoto suddenly had an insane urge to see the man’s eyes; see how they matched against the rest of the man’s beauty.

Well, one thing was for sure at least. This man was not Japanese.

Yamamoto moved away from the couch to get his first aid kit, knowing that he’d need to stop the bleeding and sling the man’s arm if he didn’t want a corpse on his hands. Washing his hands first (Yamamoto had at least paid attention a little in the short class he’d taken on medicine!), Yamamoto decided to deal with the cuts first. Even though the broken arm would be painful if the man woke up, it wasn’t threatening his life like the cuts that were still bleeding were.

The man’s pant legs were torn, so Yamamoto just ripped the rest of the fabric and pushed the man’s jacket open so that he could access the cuts. Taking a small bottle of disinfectant, Yamamoto dabbed a little of it with a cotton ball on each of the man’s wounds which included his forehead, his legs, and a particular worrying one straight down his front. The man twitched in his unconsciousness, most likely feeling the sting of the alcohol. Yamamoto then took long strips of gauze and dressed the wounds, making sure they stayed firmly in place as to effectively stop the bleeding.

Next, the bruises and the black eye would have to heal on their own, but the broken arm needed taking care of.

Yamamoto wasn’t sure where the man’s bone fracture was, but he decided to just do all he could possibly do with his medical knowledge. Taking a flat board, Yamamoto straightened the man’s arm and placed it on top of the board. He then wrapped gauze around the entire arm and board until it was made into a makeshift cast. Yamamoto then used a piece of cloth to tie around the arm and the man’s neck so the man couldn’t easily move it and hurt himself.

When he was satisfied with his work, Yamamoto decided to leave the man to natural healing. And so he waited for consciousness as he lay on the floor and looked up at the man in slight worry.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the man had done to get so beaten up like that.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when he awoke a gun was pointed right in his face.

His eyes widening, Yamamoto immediately put his hands up in surrender as he stared down the barrel. He noticed that the gun was shaking a little bit and he looked up the gun to see the silver haired man pointing it at him. His gaze was hard, his voice mistrusting as he spoke.

“Move an inch and I’ll kill you.” He wasn’t kidding at all; the gun was more than enough proof of that. The man had no accent, which made Yamamoto start to doubt his earlier assumption that the man wasn’t Japanese. However, Yamamoto _did_ hear the pain in the man’s voice as he started speaking again.

“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken too, or I won’t hesitate to shoot. Who are you and what do you want from me?”

Yamamoto swallowed, looking back down at the end of the gun. If the man pulled the trigger, Yamamoto had no hopes of making it out alive. His heart was pounding in his chest from fear, but he stopped his body from shaking because he’d been told not to move.

“I’m Takeshi Yamamoto,” he started out, proud that his voice wasn’t shaking. “I play professional baseball with the Tokyo Giants and I found you passed out in an alley on my way back from practice. I couldn’t just leave you injured like that, so I took you to my apartment to heal you. I figured you wouldn’t want to be in a hospital…”

The man shoved his gun closer to Yamamoto’s face.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” he growled. Yamamoto briefly wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

“I-I don’t want anything from you… I just wanted to help you so that you wouldn’t die…” Yamamoto said quietly, his voice starting to shake.

The man’s glare pierced into Yamamoto and he realized that he was finally able to see the man’s eyes. They were a sharp emerald green, matching beautifully with the rest of his looks. However, Yamamoto couldn’t really enjoy staring at the man’s beautiful face. He _was_ staring down a gun, after all.

To Yamamoto’s relief, the man lowered his gun.

“… Fine. I won’t kill you, for now. But if you try and pull anything, anything at all, I will kill you,” the man growled before stuffing the gun back into his coat after putting the safety on. He then leaned back onto the couch. Yamamoto only then realized that the man’s face was pale, even paler than his natural skin tone. He must be in a lot of pain.

Yamamoto figured that now that the gun was away, the rules the man had set on him earlier no longer applied.

“Can I get you some painkillers and a wet towel? You look like you’re in pain and the towel will probably help the fever that you look like you have…” Yamamoto stated, worry coating his voice.

The man turned to glare at him, his gaze still distrusting. Yamamoto wondered why the man was being so cautious. For a second, Yamamoto thought the man would pull out his gun again, but thankfully he just turned his head to the ceiling.

“… only the wet towel. I can deal with a little pain,” the man gritted out. It was a lot more pain than a little, Yamamoto knew, but it was probably better to not cross the silver haired man.

Getting up from the ground, and finally lowering his arms that had still been up in the surrendering position, Yamamoto walked into his bathroom to get a towel. He turned on the sink and dampened it before coming back out to the couch. He kneeled next to the man, who was watching him intently, and laid the towel across the man’s forehead.

Yamamoto couldn’t hold back a smile at the quiet relieved sigh he heard from the other man.

Still kneeling by the man’s face, Yamamoto finally got to stare at the man as he closed his eyes. His face was so smooth and beautiful that Yamamoto had a strange urge to stroke the man’s cheek. But he decided that that wouldn’t be the best idea in the world.

Instead, he opted to start up conversation.

“What’s your name?” Yamamoto asked, the question coming out more breathtaking than he’d intended.

This was probably what made the man give him a strange look. His look was wary, but then again he hadn’t trusted Yamamoto the moment he’d woken up. Yamamoto wondered if he was stupid for thinking the man would actually supply him the answer to his question.

Eventually, though, a small mumble came out of the man’s throat.

“… Gokudera…”

Yamamoto didn’t even care that he didn’t get the first name. At least he had something to call the man now.

“Gokudera is a beautiful name,” Yamamoto announced happily. The man’s cold glare shocked him and he looked down. Why was Gokudera so sour about everything? He’d complimented him, for crying out loud!

Suddenly realizing something, Yamamoto decided to change the subject.

“Are you hungry? I can make you something!” Yamamoto suggested. He really wanted to get Gokudera to trust him; after all, he’d be staying here for however long it took for his wounds to heal.

However, something told Yamamoto that reaching that goal wouldn’t be easy.

“I’m not hungry,” Gokudera grounded out. It sounded like every word out of his mouth was causing him great pain. However, as if to purposely counter his statement, Gokudera’s stomach growled loudly.

Yamamoto pouted. He didn’t like that Gokudera was trying to act all tough when he obviously needed a lot of care. Why couldn’t he just except that he needed help and that Yamamoto was willing to give it to him?

“Well, I’m making you something anyway,” Yamamoto insisted. He stood up again and started to head for his kitchen, different food he could make floating through his mind. He wondered what Gokudera would enjoy the most. If the man was even willing to eat it. Yamamoto had thought he’d heard a growl as he’d left.

As Yamamoto moved about the kitchen, he’d finally decided on making nikujaga which was a Japanese soup with vegetables and meat, a sudden shout and a loud whine came from the living room.

Dropping everything and rushing out of the kitchen, Yamamoto was faced with a strange sight.

Gokudera had slightly risen himself off the couch with his uninjured arm, leaning sideways as he glared at Yamamoto’s Akita, Jirou. The innocent dog had walked over to the couch and was sniffing Gokudera curiously, his tail wagging a bit. The whines were coming from him, as Gokudera was literally _growling_ at the dog. Gokudera’s stance was stiff and even the hairs on the back of his neck were standing upright as the threatening rumble came from his throat.

Wanting to break up the scene, Yamamoto rushed over and hugged his arms around Jirou. The Akita barked happily and licked his cheek as Yamamoto looked up at Gokudera pleadingly. He’d forgotten about his pet when he’d brought Gokudera here and he was now hoping to god that Gokudera liked animals.

“Gokudera, it’s okay! This is just my dog, Jirou!” Yamamoto exclaimed, worry lacing his voice. He didn’t want Gokudera shooting his dog.

Gokudera stopped growling, though he was still eying Jirou distrustfully. Yamamoto couldn’t help but feel exasperated that the silver haired man couldn’t even trust a dog. Eventually, though, he relaxed and lay back down on his back. He closed his eyes briefly before dropping his arm over the side of the couch. Jirou’s ears perked and he walked over to the pale hand, sniffing it for a moment before licking it happily.

Yamamoto thought for the faintest moment that he could see a small smile on Gokudera’s face as he scratched behind Jirou’s ears. But then it was gone, making Yamamoto question if he’d even seen it in the first place.


	2. The Twitch

A week passed before Gokudera started acting strangely.

Not that his usual behavior wasn’t strange. Every day he would wake up, try to sit up, and then growl in frustration when his wounds prevented him from doing so; like he’d forgotten that he’d been injured in the first place. Yamamoto would make him breakfast and, as much as he would’ve loved to stay home and make sure his distrustful visitor ate it, went to practice. When he came home, the breakfast he’d made would still be sitting on the table near the couch; untouched. A couple of times he’d had to shoo away Jirou, who had tried to snag a few bites of bacon.

Gokudera slept most of the time. His wounds prevented him from doing much else. When he was awake, he was cranky and rude. Yamamoto couldn’t even count how many times they’d gotten into arguments over food, which usually ended in Gokudera spitting at him and throwing things until Yamamoto gave in and retreated to his bedroom.

In fact, the only thing that Gokudera allowed to come near him was Jirou. The friendly Akita seemed to have easily gained Gokudera’s trust, which Yamamoto wished he could say about himself. The dog spent most of his time with Gokudera, making Yamamoto sometimes think that Gokudera was Jirou’s owner instead of him.

Yamamoto sighed, pushing thoughts of his visitor out of his mind as he walked home from baseball practice. It was useless getting stressed and frustrated over something he couldn’t do anything about. He refused to throw Gokudera out on the street (he was still injured, and his rudeness didn’t change that), so he would just have to keep working to gain the silver-haired man’s trust.

When he got back to his apartment, he was surprised to find the couch empty. He was even more surprised when he heard Jirou’s nails skidding on the floor as the puppy came running out of his bedroom at a hundred miles an hour. The Akita plowed into Yamamoto’s legs, barking frantically. Yamamoto leaned down to rub his puppy’s ears to calm him, carefully scanning the room. What could’ve happened that had made Jirou so skittish? And where was Gokudera?

Standing up again, Yamamoto began to explore the apartment; Jirou shakily following him. Jirou had run out of his bedroom, so Yamamoto decided to begin his search there. He walked slowly, afraid of what he would find. The apartment was eerily quiet and, if Yamamoto really strained his scent glands, he could smell an odd odor. It smelled like forest leaves at the end of autumn and wet dog.

Yamamoto entered his bedroom.

The scent strengthened until it seemed to be coating the very air itself. The room seemed exactly the same as it had been that morning; the covers were half off the bed, the curtains were open, and one of the windows was open. As Yamamoto scanned the room, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he finally spotted Gokudera.

The silver-haired man was standing by the open window, his figure stiff and unmoving. He stared out the window with a blank look on his face, almost as if he were in some kind of trance. He was standing in the shadow of the tree outside of the window, which was why Yamamoto hadn’t spotted him immediately.

As he moved closer, Yamamoto realized that Gokudera _was_ moving; occasionally his fingers would curl up and his shoulder would twitch like he had a tick. His skin looked like it was crawling, rippling and flexing as Gokudera continued to stare out the window. Yamamoto followed Gokudera’s spaced out gaze; seeing nothing but the sky.

“Gokudera…?” Yamamoto called softly, his voice laced with concern.

His voice seemed to snap Gokudera out of his trance. The man stiffened, before whirling around so fast that Yamamoto had to step back in shock. Gokudera was breathing heavily as his body continued to twitch and convulse, though his eyes had a wild, crazed look to them.

“Close… the curtains…” Gokudera panted out, his glare focused dead on Yamamoto. Yamamoto suddenly had the feeling of a mouse; trapped by a hungry predator.

“Wh-what?” Yamamoto responded, his brain freezing with the rest of his body. He wanted so badly to look away from Gokudera’s crazed eyes, but his body didn’t seem to want to obey him.

“Close… the curtains!” Gokudera snarled as he took a shaky step forward; his body swaying unsteadily. It was almost as if something was pulling him downwards, and he was trying to fight it.

Yamamoto stepped back as Gokudera came forward until his back hit the wall. Gokudera was growling as he continued to advance, and Yamamoto was even more afraid than he had been when he was at gunpoint. His eyes hesitantly left Gokudera for a second to look at the far window. He obviously had to close the curtains if he wanted to stop Gokudera’s odd behavior, but how could he when Gokudera was blocking the only way to them? Taking shaky breaths, Yamamoto knew he’d have to take a risk.

He waited until Gokudera was almost upon him before he moved; dashing as fast as he could for the window. He was sure that, if someone had been measuring, he would’ve beaten his original speed record in that moment. At his speed, he couldn’t stop in time, so he crashed into the wall next to the window. He could hear Gokudera snarling behind him now, and he hastily reached up and drew the curtains over the window.

The room was shrouded in darkness and Yamamoto could feel his heart pounding in fear. In this darkness, it would be all too easy for Gokudera to attack him. However, with a start, Yamamoto realized that he couldn’t hear snarling anymore. Instead, he heard heavy breathing and Jirou’s soft whimpers. The odd scent that had been filling the air earlier was gone.

“… Yamamoto?”

The hoarse voice splitting the silence made Yamamoto jump, and he slowly turned around. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the baseball player could just make out the form of Gokudera. He had collapsed into a sitting position on the ground, his body slightly moving up and down as he breathed. The silver-haired man seemed to have stopped convulsing, except for the occasional twitch of his fingers. Yamamoto waited a moment before relaxing his body and slowly walking over to Gokudera, adrenaline still pumping through his veins from his fear. He had never felt that threatened and afraid in his entire life; not even when Gokudera had shoved a gun in his face on that first day.

“Gokudera, what-?”

“Close the curtains,” Gokudera interrupted, repeating the crazed sentence. It made Yamamoto wonder if the other had really calmed down. “In the other rooms, I mean. Close the curtains.”

When Yamamoto hesitated, Gokudera lifted his head and glared at Yamamoto. The baseball player was relieved to see that the crazed look had faded from those emerald green eyes; annoyance and something Yamamoto couldn’t identify replacing it instead.

“Don’t ask questions, just do it!” Gokudera snapped impatiently.

Yamamoto was all too eager to comply. Giving Gokudera a wide berth (though the crazed look had left the other’s eyes, and he seemed to have calmed down, Yamamoto wasn’t taking any chances), the scared baseball player practically ran out of his bedroom. He rushed towards all of the windows in his small apartment; yanking the curtains together to block the outside world. He still wasn’t quite sure what had made Gokudera act like he was possessed, but, if closing the curtains helped, Yamamoto was more than happy to do it.

When he had closed the last curtain, the baseball player cautiously returned to his bedroom. Gokudera was lying on his side now, still panting heavily. When Yamamoto slowly approached the silver-haired man, he could see that the other’s face was completely coated with sweat.

Yamamoto kneeled down in front of the other.

As Gokudera looked up at him, and Yamamoto scanned the other carefully, the baseball player noticed that the silver-haired man wasn’t just drenched in sweat; the wound on his side had also opened again and was bleeding like crazy. Yamamoto sighed. The freshly growing scab must’ve split open when Gokudera had been convulsing earlier.

Yamamoto carefully caught Gokudera’s eye.

“I’m going to have to bandage your side again.” Because Gokudera was awake this time, Yamamoto knew he’d have to get the distrustful silver-haired man’s permission before he could re-wrap the wound. Knowing Gokudera, he’d probably bite Yamamoto’s hand if he tried to do anything without explanation.

Gokudera gave a tight nod, his leg jerking. Yamamoto took that as an affirmative, and left the room to get his medical supplies.

When he returned, Jirou had come out of his hiding place under the bed and was sniffing Gokudera cautiously. Gokudera shakily reached out his hand to let the Akita sniff it and, after the dog had done so, he seemed to be reassured that Gokudera was fine once more. He lay down by Gokudera’s head, licking the man’s face as his tail thumped against the floor. Yamamoto was thankful for his puppy; hopefully Jirou’s presence would keep Gokudera calm while the baseball player redressed his wound.

As Yamamoto sat down, scrunched up Gokudera’s shirt so that he could reach the wound, and set to work, he was surprised to hear Gokudera’s voice. It wasn’t a common practice of Gokudera’s to speak to Yamamoto (unless he was shouting at him), making Yamamoto wonder what was so important that he was made to do so now.

“Yamamoto…” Gokudera croaked out, sounding like he’d just run a mile while gargling nails. “You aren’t… going to ask about… what just happened?”

The baseball player stopped his work for a moment and looked over at Gokudera. The silver-haired man was staring intently at Jirou’s wagging tail; almost as if he was trying his best to avoid Yamamoto’s gaze. Yamamoto couldn’t stop the amused grin that covered his face as he finished unwrapping the bloody bandage from around Gokudera’s torso.

“I assumed you wouldn’t tell me, even if I asked,” Yamamoto replied, sending a sly smirk Gokudera’s way.

Gokudera scoffed, and Yamamoto was astonished to see a tiny upwards curving of Gokudera’s lips. Gokudera never smiled; and especially not in Yamamoto’s presence. All of the sudden, Yamamoto felt a huge warmth spread through his body.

He was finally starting to gain Gokudera’s trust!

 

\--

 

By the time Yamamoto finished re-dressing Gokudera’s wound, the silver-haired man had drifted into an uneasy sleep. He was still twitching, one of his limbs jerking occasionally. His entire body was coated in sweat, and sometimes he would emit weird, throaty growls.

Yamamoto decided that Gokudera would be more comfortable on the couch, so he nudged Jirou out of the way; the puppy still cuddling Gokudera’s head with his body. Once the Akita had scampered off into the other room, Yamamoto picked Gokudera up bridal style; careful not to disturb the other’s restless sleep. As he walked into the living room, and set Gokudera down on the couch, the silver-haired man’s leg suddenly jerked out and hit Yamamoto right in his nether regions.

Gasping, Yamamoto fell back on his butt and just sat in intense pain for a moment. Tears of anguish formed in his eyes as he tried to breathe through the pain. If he hadn’t known any better, Yamamoto would’ve been sure that Gokudera had done that on purpose.

When the pain finally subsided enough for him to move, Yamamoto shakily stood up and stumbled off into the kitchen. He got a towel and dampened it, coming back to the living room with the dripping cloth. Careful to avoid Gokudera’s jerking legs, Yamamoto kneeled down by Gokudera’s head and placed the cool cloth on the other’s forehead. Yamamoto wasn’t quite sure what was causing the other to sweat so much, but a damp towel couldn’t hurt, right?

As he rubbed the wet towel across Gokudera’s face, Yamamoto noticed that Gokudera’s mouth was moving. Wondering if he was muttering something, Yamamoto leaned down so that his ear was right next to Gokudera’s lips.

“T-Tsuna…” It was very faint, but Yamamoto heard it.

He sat back up in confusion. Why would Gokudera be dreaming about tuna? Perhaps he was hungry, after all those times that he refused to eat Yamamoto’s food?

While he was lost in his thoughts, Gokudera started to stir back into consciousness. Realizing that now might be the only time he could test if Gokudera really was starting to trust him, Yamamoto ran into the kitchen; leaving the towel on Gokudera’s forehead.

He quickly prepared some grilled cheese sandwiches and a tall glass of milk. He loved milk, so he hoped that Gokudera did too.

When he returned to the living room, Gokudera was awake. He was staring intently at the ceiling, almost as if he was trying his hardest not to think about something. Yamamoto decided not to ask and push his luck; it would already be a miracle if Gokudera accepted his food.

“Gokudera,” Yamamoto called softly. The man’s head snapped to look at him; his emerald green gaze intense. Yamamoto swallowed nervously, “I made some food… I know you don’t want to eat it, but please! You’re hungry; don’t even try to lie to me about that. You were murmuring about tuna in your sleep, for God’s sake! Please eat something! I swear it’s not poisoned, or anything!”

Gokudera’s gaze lingered on Yamamoto for a moment before it trailed down to look at the food. Instantly his face contorted into a disgusted sneer.

“I hate milk,” he grumbled before he turned his back to Yamamoto and buried his face into the couch.

Yamamoto’s heart sank. He was losing his only chance to feed Gokudera! He hurriedly rushed over to Jirou’s empty water bowl and poured the milk into it. He knew that his puppy, at least, liked milk. He then returned to the couch and stood determinedly in front of Gokudera’s back.

“You don’t have to drink the milk! But at least eat one sandwich, or just half, or something!”

Yamamoto held his breath as he waited for Gokudera’s response. This was the point in which usually Gokudera would start swearing at him and throwing whatever was in his reach. Yamamoto hoped that their relationship had at least evolved away from the silver-haired man throwing things.

Suddenly Yamamoto realized that Gokudera was convulsing again, and that the strong scent of forest leaves and wet dog had filled the air. Panic gripping his chest, Yamamoto set the food down on the table by the couch and quickly scanned the room. All of the curtains were drawn over the windows, so why…?

Deciding that he couldn’t possibly find a solution, since he still didn’t know what was causing Gokudera to convulse like this, Yamamoto decided to turn his attention to Gokudera. He cautiously kneeled down by the other and turned him over onto his back. Gokudera’s eyes were closed tight, and his teeth clenched, as his body continued to convulse and his skin rippled intensely. His body was sweating even more than before, so Yamamoto picked up the towel that had fallen onto the floor and started wiping Gokudera’s forehead again. It wasn’t much, but Yamamoto didn’t know what else he could do. He just hoped that Gokudera wouldn’t go crazy again.

Eventually, Gokudera managed to stop convulsing. The silver-haired man’s body collapsed, as if he’d lost the energy just to lie on the couch, and panted heavily. Yamamoto stayed by his side, dutifully wiping the sweat off of Gokudera’s forehead.

Gokudera opened one of his eyes and looked over at Yamamoto.

“Fuck… I guess I’ll eat your damn food…” He panted out; sounding like the very act of talking was sapping away his life energy.

Despite the situation, Yamamoto beamed with happiness. They were really progressing if Gokudera was becoming willing to eat his food. Yamamoto placed the wet towel on the table and brought the grilled cheese sandwiches over to where Gokudera could reach them. The silver-haired man rolled onto his side, cautiously picked up a sandwich, sniffed it, and, to Yamamoto’s happiness, took a bite.


	3. The Transformation

Yamamoto woke the next morning drenched in a cold sweat and his heart pounding in fear.

He had been dreaming that he was giving Jirou a bath on the baseball field; the Akita sitting in a giant metal tub filled with, not water, but milk. For some reason, Yamamoto was scrubbing the milk into his puppy’s fur with his shoe when suddenly the light disappeared. The world went dark, and Jirou was suddenly gone; all Yamamoto could hear were growls and heavy breathing. Yamamoto ran around the dark world, trying to call out, but his voice didn’t work. When the lights flashed back on, Yamamoto was face to face with Gokudera. The other was convulsing and his eyes had that wild and crazed look in them, and he looked like he was preparing to pounce-

Eyes snapping open, Yamamoto had practically leaped out of bed. He fumbled to turn on the light as he sat up; panting as he tried to calm the absolute terror he felt from his nightmare. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes as he tried to forget the dream.

He’d forgotten how frightened he had been when Gokudera had gone crazy the day before. He had been too distracted from the fact that the silver-haired man was finally starting to trust him, even if it was just a little bit. But his sub-conscious sure hadn’t forgotten. He could still feel a paralyzing fear gripping at his chest.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, lest he return to his nightmare, Yamamoto stumbled out of bed. He stretched as he headed out into the living room, smiling a little as he looked over to see Gokudera fast asleep on the couch. The other was curled into a tight little ball, and he seemed to be at peace from the twitching at last.

He sure didn’t resemble the convulsing figure of Yamamoto’s nightmares now.

When Yamamoto walked by, Jirou sat up from where he’d been sleeping next to the couch. The puppy woofed quietly before standing up and following Yamamoto into the kitchen; where he knew breakfast would be waiting for him. The baseball player really had to laugh at his Akita. He always knew when Yamamoto was filling his food bowl.

Food and water bowl high with their respective substances, Jirou dug right in as Yamamoto moved over to the counter to make breakfast. Now that Gokudera was finally eating the food he made, Yamamoto wanted to make the best breakfast he could for the other. After all, who knew when the last time was that Gokudera had eaten well? If he ever had.

Yamamoto decided to go all out. He made eggs Sunnyside up over a piece of golden brown, whole wheat toast. To accompany it, he cooked two pieces of sizzling bacon and a sausage; followed by four pieces of French toast, sprinkled with powdered sugar. To top off the meal, he took the biggest glass he had and filled it to the brim with orange juice (since he now knew that Gokudera didn’t like milk).

After using three plates to hold the huge breakfast, Yamamoto began to think that maybe he’d gone a little overboard.

Laughing at himself, the baseball player decided to not risk trying to pull a waiter move by balancing two plates on his forearms, so he just took the huge breakfast over to the couch in two trips; stumbling over Jirou every time he entered or exited the kitchen.

By the time he had gotten the whole breakfast successfully onto the table next to the couch, Yamamoto looked down at the still sleeping Gokudera. He debated if he should wake the other. Even though Gokudera had eaten the grilled cheese sandwiches, that didn’t necessarily mean he’d eat this as well. Yamamoto wanted to stick around to make sure he ate the breakfast, but he had to go to baseball practice.

He decided to let the other sleep, since that was also important; especially since Gokudera finally seemed to be at peace from whatever had been making him twitch and convulse the day before. Yamamoto had gotten Gokudera to eat something yesterday, so the silver haired man would be fine for a little bit if he decided not to eat today.

As Yamamoto picked up the duffel bag with all of his baseball equipment in it, he noticed that the living room was pretty dark and gloomy. Clicking his tongue, he walked over to the window in front of the couch and opened the curtains; letting some light shine into the room. Then, with one last look at the sleeping man on his couch, Yamamoto left for his practice.

It was only around noon that he realized what he’d done.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto stood on his doorstep after coming home from practice that day, rooted to the spot by fear. His key was hovering over the lock, but his hands were sweating and shaking so badly that he’d probably drop it if he tried to stick it in the lock. If he could move in the first place.

How could he have been so stupid?

Taking deep breaths to try and calm his fear, Yamamoto forced his body to move. He would never accomplish anything just standing on his doorstep, and what if Gokudera was seriously injured because of what he’d done? He would never forgive himself if he let the man die because he’d been too afraid to go into his own apartment! It was his own fault for stupidly opening the curtains that morning!

And there was also the fear that someone would see him frozen in front of his doorstep and ask him what was wrong. He would have to make up some lie about how the key didn’t work, the person would then try to help him inside, and, when they did, they’d be face to face with whatever was going on inside. And what if they were the people who had originally hurt Gokudera in the first place?!

Yamamoto couldn’t have that.

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, Yamamoto shakily placed the key into the lock. He swallowed hard as he turned the lock and opened the door.

It was silent. No heavy breathing, no whimpers from Jirou. Nothing.

The baseball player stepped cautiously into the room, slowly and quietly closing the door behind him. As he scanned the room, he saw that the breakfast he had made was sitting cold and untouched on the table. He also noticed that the curtains were still open in front of the couch. But, just as he had feared, the couch itself was empty.

Gokudera was gone.

Suddenly Yamamoto’s ears caught the sound of nails skidding on the floor, and he was struck with a powerful sense of déjà vu. This was just like the day before when Gokudera had first been convulsing, when Jirou had shot out of his bedroom.

Looking up to the door of his bedroom, Yamamoto indeed saw something shoot out of the room. However, it was obviously not Jirou.

This thing was moving so fast that Yamamoto couldn’t tell what it was; just that it was a silver blur. And Jirou was not a silver colored dog. It crashed into things as it dashed crazily around the room, before it seemed to notice Yamamoto’s presence and came shooting towards him. Yamamoto could only cringe in fear and lift his arms to protect himself as the thing attacked him.

As it flew at him, Yamamoto felt himself fall to the ground, his bag dropping near the door, as he tried vainly to protect himself with his arms. The thing was now on top of him, clawing and biting anywhere it could reach. The baseball player moved his arms slightly to take a peek at what was attacking him, his face scrunched up from the pain of the thing’s claws digging into his skin.

When he moved his arms enough to see around them, he came face to face with a silver wolf. Its fur was bristling, and its lips were drawn back in a snarl that showed its pointy teeth. Yamamoto could almost _see_ the wolf growling at him; its entire body was vibrating from the force of its growl. He could feel it too; the force of the rumble penetrating into the core of his body until it was almost like he himself was growling. The wolf’s emerald green eyes glared down at the baseball player and, as he tore his gaze away from its eyes, he saw that there was a huge scar on the wolf’s belly.

_What…?_

Yamamoto was brought out of his thoughts as the wolf dug its claws deep into his chest; its head snapping forward and chomping its teeth down on Yamamoto’s chin. Gasping in pain, Yamamoto tried to pull the wolf off of him. An insane theory was floating around in his head, but he pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time for that!

As the wolf’s teeth sunk deeper and deeper into Yamamoto’s chin, the baseball player grabbed the wolf’s muzzle in a crazy attempt to free himself. Yamamoto’s chin and chest burned with pain, making it hard to concentrate. He tried to pry the wolf’s mouth open so that he could fall out of the wolf’s grasp, but, now that he was struggling, the wolf was starting to shake Yamamoto’s head from its grasp on his chin.

The effort to weaken Yamamoto was doing the job. Yamamoto’s vision started to go hazy as the blood from his chin splashed onto the wolf’s muzzle; staining its silver fur red. Yamamoto had to think fast, or he may get his entire face ripped off by the wolf. Either that or he’d bleed to death. Plus, the pain was starting to become unbearable.

Deciding that his insane theory might be the only way to save himself, Yamamoto stopped struggling and pleaded at the wolf.

“G-Gokudera, please let go!”

Suddenly the wolf stopped growling. As Yamamoto tried to steel himself from the pain in his chin and chest (it was painful just to breathe), the wolf’s green eyes bore down on him.

The similarities between the wolf and Gokudera were too great to be a coincidence. Silver fur, silver hair. Green eyes, and the scar on the wolf’s belly was the exact same injury that Gokudera had had on his stomach. There was also the fact that Gokudera was gone, and this wolf was here. And now the wolf had stopped gnawing on him, though its teeth hadn’t quite loosened their grasp, which Yamamoto could only assume to mean that his theory had been correct.

This wolf was Gokudera.

Letting go of his chin, Gokudera leaped off of Yamamoto. He retreated a few paces away, where he turned, sat, and stared at Yamamoto. His eyes never left the baseball player as he began to lick the blood from between his claws.

Yamamoto panted as he slowly sat up and leaned back against the couch, staring back at Gokudera as he tried to ignore his body shouting at him in pain. He couldn’t deny that he was in shock. It was impossible… and yet there Gokudera was, a wolf. Had this been the reason for Gokudera’s twitching and odd behavior from the day before? Now that Yamamoto thought about it, he could smell that odd scent again. At least he could identify it now.

It was the smell of the wolf.

Breaking his eye contact with Gokudera, Yamamoto began to inspect his own wounds. The wolf’s claws hadn’t dug that deeply into his chest (his baseball jersey and thick jogging sweater had mostly protected him from Gokudera’s attacks), and the pain had already started to fade from his chest area. Those wounds wouldn’t need any special attention. His chin, however, was a different matter.

When the baseball player lifted his fingers to check his chin, wincing as pain throbbed through his jaw, he could still feel the blood gushing out of the deep wound and he knew that he’d have to stop the bleeding soon or he’d pass out.

He was definitely going to get a scar from this one.

As he started to stand up (his medical supplies were in the bathroom cabinet, and he’d need all the help he could get. Plus, maybe Gokudera would let him treat his wounds, even though it may not work on a wolf), however, Gokudera was growling at him again. The wolf abruptly stood up and lifted his haunches as he pulled his lip back in a snarl; his ears flat against his head.

It was obviously a threat.

His heart beating in fear and confusion, Yamamoto slowly sat back down again. When Gokudera seemed to be sure that Yamamoto wasn’t going anywhere, he lay down and began washing himself once more.

Yamamoto watched the wolf wearily. Why was Gokudera still threatening him? He’d thought he’d convinced the wolf that everything was fine when he’d gotten him to stop biting his chin… Did Gokudera still feel threatened? And why would he? Hadn’t he finally started to trust Yamamoto?

As Yamamoto debated these thoughts in his head, Gokudera yawned and rested his muzzle on his paws; his eyes slowly closing. Just as Yamamoto had the flashing hope that Gokudera would fall asleep, and he could go get his medical supplies, the wolf opened its eyes again and continued to stare at him.

Sighing, Yamamoto decided he’d have to find something else he could reach from where he was to stop the bleeding. Gokudera obviously wasn’t letting him leave anytime soon.

Looking down, Yamamoto saw the tattered condition of his clothes. His sports jacket was in completely shredded from Gokudera’s claws, and Yamamoto decided that that would have to do. Feeling a small ache in his chest (he’d really loved that jacket!), Yamamoto ripped off a dangling piece of cloth and applied it to his chin, tightly tying the cloth around his head so that it would stay in place.

Knowing that he looked ridiculous, Yamamoto rested his head back on the couch and stared Gokudera in the eyes.

This whole week had been crazy. Finding the silver haired man in the alleyway, Gokudera’s stubborn distrust of him, the twitching, and now there was the wolf. Yamamoto felt like he’d been placed right in the middle of some weird fantasy movie.

As his head sagged from exhaustion, Yamamoto’s last thought was to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. All he knew was that, when he awoke, the wolf was gone. In its place was Gokudera; tightly curled into a ball, and obviously fast asleep.

Sighing, Yamamoto slowly stretched his limbs. So his theory had been correct after all. Somehow, Gokudera was also a wolf. Stories of werewolves that Yamamoto had heard when he was a child flitted through his brain, making him wonder if those stories were really just stories. Millions of questions flooded through his tired mind, but Yamamoto knew that none of them could be answered until Gokudera awoke.

In the meantime, Yamamoto had to check on the condition of his chin.

Safe to get up from his spot behind the couch (Gokudera was asleep, and also not in wolf form, therefore not threatening), Yamamoto stiffly stood and headed into his bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, the baseball player could only laugh at his disheveled appearance. He looked paler than usual, with dark bags under his eyes. As if an added bonus, he looked absolutely silly with the blood-stained, tattered remains of his jacket tied around his head. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a horror film.

Untying the soiled jacket from his head, Yamamoto glanced at the wound on his face. It had finally stopped bleeding, to be replaced with an ugly scab in the shape of a straight line. Somehow. The wolf’s bite must’ve only grasped a line of his skin, but had completely sunk into that one line. Which didn’t make much sense, but Yamamoto didn’t know how else to explain what had happened. Then again, he didn’t know how to explain how _anything_ had happened…

Gingerly touching the scab, Yamamoto was relieved to find that the pain wasn’t too bad. It was definitely better than when he was getting bit in the first place.

Pulling out his medicine supplies from the cabinet above his head, Yamamoto fumbled around inside the box until he found the disinfectant. He applied a glob of it to his chin, wincing as the wound stung like crazy. He had to deal with the pain, though. It was better than it getting infected. He then placed a square bandage over the wound, to make sure it wouldn’t start bleeding again, and to really press in the disinfectant.

Pleased with his work for the moment, Yamamoto exited the bathroom and, noticing that Gokudera was still asleep, headed over to where the untouched breakfast sat. He picked up a piece of cold French toast and started nibbling, having not noticed how hungry he was until that point.

It was at that moment that the baseball player suddenly thought of his puppy. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t even heard Jirou since he’d come home the day before…

His throat tightening in worry, Yamamoto was suddenly not hungry. He put down his toast and started to look around for Jirou, careful not to disturb the sleeping Gokudera. He didn’t know what state Gokudera was in at the moment, and he wasn’t about to anger the other and find out.

Deciding to check out his bedroom, since that was where Jirou had been hiding the first time Gokudera had started convulsing. Yamamoto tried to prepare himself for what he might find. Gokudera in wolf form had been set on attacking everything, and since Yamamoto hadn’t even heard Jirou recently, he couldn’t help but think the worst. He didn’t know what he would do if he found his puppy in pieces…

Shaking his head to push those horrifying thoughts out of his head, Yamamoto entered his bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was that there wasn’t a bloody corpse out in the open. That was a good sign. The wolf would’ve had no reason to hide something if he’d killed it. Unless he had eaten it instead…

Yamamoto smacked himself in the head. He couldn’t keep thinking like this! Nothing was for sure until he found Jirou!

Trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat, Yamamoto surveyed the rest of the room. The lamp near his bed had been knocked over, and the bed covers were thrown in a heap on the floor. On closer inspection, Yamamoto noticed that holes had been gnawed through the cloth. Other than that, however, the room looked untouched.

Kneeling down to check under the bed, Yamamoto almost fainted from relief when he saw a mound of ginger fur. Reaching out to lightly touch the dog’s fur, Yamamoto couldn’t hold back the sigh of relief that escaped him when he felt the warmth radiating off his puppy.

Jirou was still alive!

Reacting to the touch, Jirou flinched and slowly turned his head to look up at Yamamoto with scared, puppy-dog eyes. Yamamoto felt a strong sense of pity for his puppy. The wolf must’ve really frightened Jirou, and it was Yamamoto’s fault that the wolf had appeared in the first place.

Jirou’s ears perked when he realized who it was, and he yelped excitedly as he flew into Yamamoto’s arms. Yamamoto held onto his puppy, and stroked his fingers through the puppy’s soft fur on his head, as Jirou licked Yamamoto’s face like a child would a lollipop.

“I’m sorry, Jirou,” Yamamoto whispered into his puppy’s ear as he continued stroking the soft fur. “I can be a real idiot, can’t I?”

Jirou woofed, as if in agreement, before stretching his head back in an attempt to lick the hand that was petting him. Yamamoto laughed and buried his face into his dog’s fur. He was relishing the moment of not having to think about Gokudera, or his chin throbbing with pain, and just being able to sit here with Jirou. It was almost as if his life had returned to normal, before he found Gokudera in the alley. And he was enjoying it.

That last thought made Yamamoto pause for a moment. Did he really wish he’d never met Gokudera?

Jirou started squirming, breaking Yamamoto out of his thoughts. The dog leaped out of his arms before trotting out of the bedroom. The puppy must’ve deemed everything okay and was now moving on with his dog life. Yamamoto couldn’t help but envy him.

Deciding to push away his confusing thoughts for the moment, Yamamoto decided to confront Gokudera and get the answers to his questions.

 

\--

 

It was a few hours before Gokudera finally woke up, and Yamamoto was relieved to stop biting his nails in worry on how Gokudera’s mood was going to be. This stress was going to make the baseball player keel over someday.

Gokudera’s eyes slowly opened, and his emerald green gaze surveyed his surroundings for a moment before he sat up and scratched his head. He apparently hadn’t noticed Yamamoto at first, for when he looked over and saw the baseball player anxiously sitting on the couch, he jumped a little in surprise.

But then he just sighed.

“So you know, huh?”

Not quite sure of his meaning, but having a good idea, Yamamoto simply nodded his head in affirmation.

Gokudera nodded, biting his lip, before he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Yamamoto stared on in bafflement as Gokudera proceeded to sit there stiffly, wondering what on earth this strange man was doing. It almost looked like he was… _waiting_ for something.

A tense silence passed before Gokudera finally opened his eyes again. And, when he did, he looked at Yamamoto with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Though the look was gone as fast as it had appeared, making Yamamoto wonder if he’d even seen it at all. All he could see now was a cold look in the other’s eyes.

“Well? You’re not going to scream and start throwing things at me? You’re not going to chase me out and start shooting at me?” Gokudera snapped, his eyes narrowing in hatred.

Yamamoto could only blink in astonishment.

“What…?”

“Don’t lie to me!” Gokudera snarled, standing up abruptly and stomping over to where Yamamoto was sitting so he could spit in his face. “Don’t you think I’m disgusting? A child of Satan? Don’t you want to kick me out onto your doorstep and never have to think of me ever again?!”

Yamamoto could barely process what was being shouted at him as he stared up at Gokudera in pure shock. Where was this coming from? Sure, he’d thought for a fleeting second that he wished he’d never met the silver-haired man, but never any of the things Gokudera was now spitting at him. Why did Gokudera seem to expect the kind of behavior he was describing?

“Why would you ever think that…?” Yamamoto finally mumbled out when he realized the furious Gokudera had been waiting for him to answer. The baseball player sat up a little taller to fully look Gokudera in the eye, wanting to make sure the other heard what he was about to say. “I’ve been really confused and… scared through this whole thing, but that doesn’t mean I hate you and want to get rid of you. I just want to know what’s going on… and why you’re so afraid of me when you could easily tear me to pieces.”

Gokudera seemed rooted to where he stood for a moment before he unfroze and looked away with a click of his tongue. He glared at a spot on the floor and spoke so quietly that Yamamoto almost didn’t hear him.

“… I’m not afraid of you…”

Yamamoto sighed in frustration, wondering why Gokudera had to be so stubborn on everything. He also felt slight disappointment, since he felt that the other trusted him even less than he had originally.

Sitting up even further, Yamamoto stared intently into the other’s adverted gaze.

“Yes, you are. If you weren’t, why would you be so distrustful of me?”

Gokudera finally met Yamamoto’s gaze with a glare, though there was a hint of uncertainty. It was only for a second, though, before Gokudera broke eye contact again and retreated to the door. For a moment, Yamamoto thought that the other was just going to walk out and leave, but, instead, Gokudera just collapsed against the door. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared down at the floor again.

“Y-you’re really not going to hurt me?”

Yamamoto stared in disbelief at the other. It was probably the most open thing the other had ever said to him. His voice had been full of fear.

Slowly getting off the couch, Yamamoto made his way to where Gokudera had collapsed. Immediately, whatever openness Gokudera had had vanished and he jumped up from his sitting position. He slammed back against the door, his hand reaching back and tightly gripping the doorknob.

“Fuck! Forget I said anything, I’m not scared of you!” Gokudera snapped, though his shaky hand on the doorknob said otherwise.

Yamamoto closed the distance between them and gently touched his hand to the other’s pale cheek. He could feel Gokudera trembling under his touch.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Yamamoto whispered, his gaze never leaving Gokudera’s so the other would know he was telling the truth. He wasn’t sure why Gokudera was so scared, but he didn’t want him to be. The baseball player hated the fact that the silver-haired man seemed to expect people to hurt him.

Gokudera stared defiantly up at the baseball player before smacking his hand off of him. Pushing the other one away, Gokudera trudged over and sat grudgingly on the couch; his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he mumbled, his tone daring Yamamoto to argue with him. Yamamoto just laughed softly, deciding not to push it. He needed Gokudera to be in a good mood if he was going to get the other to answer his questions. Besides, Yamamoto wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to open the box that was Gokudera’s past.

Moving over to the couch, Yamamoto sat down a respectful distance away from Gokudera so that the other wouldn’t feel threatened. He then looked at Gokudera’s sneer for a moment before launching into his first question.

“Just to clarify… What… are you?”

A silence hung between them for a bit before Gokudera looked over and met his gaze. The fear had completely disappeared from his gaze, to be replaced with slight irritation.

“You already know the answer to that question,” Gokudera scoffed, but he continued to answer anyway, “I’m a werewolf.”

Yamamoto could feel Gokudera’s gaze on him as he looked down at his lap. He had had the suspicion that that was what Gokudera was, but to hear it out loud, and to know it was the truth, was a very different matter. Yamamoto had always assumed that werewolves were just a made up entity from some bored author’s imagination. To hear they were real… Well, Yamamoto was having trouble wrapping his brain around it.

He decided to move on to his next question.

“Why did you attack me?” Yamamoto looked up and met Gokudera’s eyes again, causing Gokudera to look away from him. The baseball player sighed. How could he have a conversation if Gokudera wouldn’t even look at him?

“What is this? An interrogation?” Gokudera looked just plain irritated now, and Yamamoto realized that he was glad the Gokudera he was used to was back. Seeing the other so open and frightened had terrified the baseball player almost more than the wolf attacking him had.

“Well, yeah, I guess you can call it that!” Yamamoto laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Though he stared at Gokudera intently, to show that he really did want an answer to his question. Yamamoto could tell that the questions were making the silver-haired man uncomfortable, but the baseball player didn’t want to be confused anymore!

Suddenly, however, Gokudera’s demeanor completely changed. The irritation and discomfort had vanished, to be replaced with an aura that Yamamoto could only describe as evil. A twisted smirk appeared on the werewolf’s face as he leaned closer to Yamamoto. The baseball player flinched back, feeling unnerved as the tables were switched on him. Suddenly he was the prey, and Gokudera was the predator.

“Do you know what fear smells like?” Gokudera hummed, his eyes flashing with malice. Yamamoto swallowed, wondering what had brought about this sudden change in mood.

“A wolf can smell fear; and I could smell yours all the way down the block.” Gokudera was slowly moving closer to Yamamoto, his smirk revealing his sharp canines. “When a wolf feels threatened, they will attack anything. And when they smell fear, well, let’s just say they go a bit batty.”

As Gokudera continued to move forwards, Yamamoto scooted back as far as he could; his mind wrapped in confusion and fear. Why was Gokudera acting this way? Was it because he still had the curtains open? Was Gokudera still in the mindset of the wolf? Or was this because Gokudera was scenting his fear?

Suddenly, Gokudera froze. As Yamamoto’s eyes widened in fear and confusion, Gokudera began to twitch again. He started breathing shakily as he curled up slightly, shivers raking down his body.

The scene was all too familiar.

“F-fuck… Not now…” Gokudera hissed out, before his head shot up to glare at Yamamoto. “C-close the curtains… Now!”

But Yamamoto was frozen to the spot, and could only watch on in horrified awe as Gokudera began to shrink with an agonized cry. As he shrank, his bones began to reform themselves. His fingers shrank and became more rounded; his thumb and pointer finger fusing together as his hand no longer became opposable. His face became longer and narrower, and his hair disappeared to be replaced with silver fur all along his body. As his muzzle formed, his teeth became sharper and his nose turned black. His thigh muscles rounded, and his back legs slightly curved out. Lastly, pointed ears sprouted from his head, and a tail bushed out from Gokudera’s tailbone.

Slipping out of Gokudera’s clothes, a wolf now sat on Yamamoto’s couch; its body trembling and its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it panted heavily. Yamamoto’s body refused to move as he continued to stare at Gokudera. The transformation he’d just witnessed had to be one of the most amazing, yet horrifying, things he’d ever seen in his entire life.

It was only then that Yamamoto finally responded to Gokudera’s request and went up to close the curtains. Though by then, of course, it was too late.

When Yamamoto returned to the couch, the wolf was watching the baseball player with an unreadable expression. Though Yamamoto could tell Gokudera was tired, which made sense, after all, since the transformation had looked thoroughly exhausting.

“What goes on in your head, Gokudera?” Yamamoto sighed to the wolf, who only twitched an ear in response.

Yamamoto sat back and had a staring contest with the wolf as he delved into his own thoughts. His attempted “interrogation” with Gokudera had only proved to confuse the baseball player even more. Gokudera had had several drastic mood changes within the span of an hour, which had confused the baseball player to the point that he had no idea where he stood with the other anymore. He would love to just blame the odd behavior on Gokudera’s wolf side, but Yamamoto didn’t know him well enough to simply make that conclusion.

Why did everything involving Gokudera have to be so complicated?

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Yamamoto suddenly had a thought. Gokudera had said that a wolf attacked when it felt threatened or scented fear. Since the wolf before him was yawning, and looked like it wouldn’t move anytime soon, did that mean that Gokudera no longer felt threatened around Yamamoto? Did he even have his human memories when he was a wolf?

Realizing that he was adding more unanswered questions to his thoughts, and that he was only confusing himself further by wondering, Yamamoto decided to shut his brain off for the night.

His interrogation of Gokudera would have to wait for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you’ve all discovered Gokudera’s wild little secret ;D I know in the original side series ‘Monster Tamer Tsuna’ that he’s supposed to be a werecat, but nope, not in my story, he’s 100% werewolf! If that’s possible. But I also have a different take on werewolves, so I hope you like it! =) Yamamoto’s a confuzzled little human right now, but all will be explained in time.  
> Anyway, enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks for reading!


	4. The Injury

Yamamoto awoke to a throbbing pain in his jaw. His head was pounding too, and Yamamoto wondered with a light chuckle if it was because he had been thinking too hard yesterday. He wasn’t much of a thinker; and he was sure that he’d thought more intently yesterday than he ever had in his entire life. Maybe the pain he was feeling now was why he wasn’t fond of thinking too much.

Grimacing, the baseball player slowly opened his eyes, only to close them again with a groan from the brightness of the outside world. It wasn’t doing wonders to his headache. He wanted nothing more than to stay where he was forever, but the pain in his jaw wasn’t even _close_ to subsiding and his back was starting to ache from his position.

He had fallen asleep on the couch in an upright position; his back resting against the lamp that was on a table next to the couch, and his butt sitting on the armrest of the couch as his legs uncomfortably curled in front of him. He didn’t like sleeping all curled up, but, as he slowly opened his eyes again, he could see why he couldn’t stretch out like he’d wanted to.

Before him, nearly touching his feet, was Gokudera curled into a small little ball; shivering violently. It wasn’t the same as what Yamamoto had seen before; Gokudera wasn’t twitching or convulsing, he was just _shivering._ There were goose bumps all over his arms, and Yamamoto thought he heard the werewolf’s teeth chattering. It was almost as if the other was cold.

Yamamoto tilted his head in confusion. It was nearly eighty degrees in his little apartment. How could the werewolf be cold?

“Gokudera?” Yamamoto whispered, not quite sure if the other was awake, as he slowly stretched forward out of his former position. His back ached stiffly, and Yamamoto suddenly wondered if this was how his old man felt getting out of bed every morning. “Are you cold?”

All he got in response was a glare before Gokudera curled up even tighter and continued to ignore him, shivering the entire time.

Yamamoto blinked in confusion. Just what the heck was going on with the werewolf? It seemed like lately, no matter what Yamamoto said or did, he just made the other angry! And then there had been the illogical mood changes that Gokudera had drastically gone through the day before. Ever since the ballplayer had discovered Gokudera’s little secret, the other had proceeded to make no sense to him. His contradictory actions confused him, and Yamamoto could only guess how the other felt about him.

Though it was obvious now, at that moment, that the werewolf wasn’t too fond of him.

“If you don’t like it here, if you don’t like _me,_ then why do you stay here?” Yamamoto whispered, his hands tightening into fists. He didn’t know why, but to know that he’d failed to get the other to trust him sent a stab of pain through his heart. “Your wounds healed three days ago. You could’ve left.”

However, Gokudera still refused to answer him. Sending another glare his way, Gokudera stood abruptly and marched into Yamamoto’s bedroom before the now alone ballplayer heard a door slam. Yamamoto sighed, and decided not to point out to his empty room that there was no lock on his door and that he could easily follow the werewolf into it if he wanted to. Besides, he knew better than anyone that following the angry werewolf wasn’t a good idea.

So, instead, he decided to stumble into the bathroom to check on the condition of his painful jaw.

Peeling the bandage off his chin, Yamamoto discovered that his wound had started bleeding again. The baseball player must’ve somehow banged his chin on something in the middle of the night that had reopened the wound. Sighing, Yamamoto applied another bandage onto the gash and popped a few painkillers into his mouth for the pain.

As he leaned on the sink counter, Yamamoto stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection looked exhausted; his eyes were downcast, and his shoulders were stiff. Plus, there was the giant bandage on the right side of his face. He realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. Was Gokudera’s presence more trouble than it was worth? It obviously wasn’t healthy for Yamamoto to be constantly hated and attacked by the werewolf, and it broke his heart to know that Gokudera didn’t appreciate everything the baseball player had done for him. His refusal to trust him was obvious proof of that.

Yamamoto turned on the sink and splashed water onto his face.

He didn’t want Gokudera to leave. Even though the werewolf hated him, Yamamoto couldn’t say the same. When he had found Gokudera in that dark alley, the monotony in Yamamoto’s life had broken. Taking care of Gokudera had promised something new and unexpected to happen every day, and, while at times it was draining, it was _exciting._ Yamamoto didn’t want it to end. And there was also still the small part of him that refused to give up until he got the stubborn werewolf to trust him.

Sudden determination flooding through him, Yamamoto pushed himself off of the sink and marched into his kitchenette. Once there, he pulled out skills he hadn’t used since he’d left home and began to make sushi.

When it was completed, and the sushi chef’s son had rolled the last piece of seaweed onto the outer bit of the sushi, Yamamoto took the small meal and headed to his bedroom. He hesitated outside the door, pondering if he should knock or not. He didn’t want to scare the werewolf, but he was also afraid that, if he made his presence known, Gokudera would try to prevent him from coming in.

Deciding that it was his room, and therefore he had the right to come in whenever he wanted, Yamamoto skipped knocking and opened the door.

Inside, Gokudera was curled into a ball on Yamamoto’s bed with the blankets tucked around him in a giant cocoon. Jirou stood at the foot of the bed, wagging his tail slightly as he looked up at the human cocoon. The Akita knew that he wasn’t allowed on the bed, though Yamamoto could tell that his puppy longed to be up there and cuddle with Gokudera. When the door opened, however, Jirou changed his target with a happy woof and dashed over to Yamamoto; almost knocking the ballplayer over as the puppy weaved around his legs.

“Jirou, sit!” Yamamoto laughed at his energetic Akita, pulling a treat out of his pocket and tossing it at his puppy when he obeyed his command. Jirou caught the treat in his mouth and chewed it happily as he looked up at Yamamoto with expectant eyes.

However, Yamamoto had already turned his attention away from his Akita and was now staring at Gokudera. He was certain that the werewolf now knew he was here, but the other hadn’t reacted in any way. Perhaps that was a good sign?

Yamamoto slowly made his way over to the bed, plate of sushi in hand. When he reached the side that Gokudera was facing, Yamamoto was surprised to see downcast green eyes. The other seemed to have stopped shivering, but he still refused to look at Yamamoto. The baseball player wondered if he should even try to offer the other his food but, to his complete astonishment, Gokudera spoke first.

“Are you going to throw me out?”

Yamamoto blinked before he sighed and sat down next to the bed. He looked up at the werewolf, trying to catch the other’s gaze, but Gokudera would always look away. Finally Yamamoto gave up, deciding that Gokudera wasn’t going to look at him anytime soon, and just hoped that he would listen to him.

“Gokudera, I already told you I wasn’t going to do that,” Yamamoto stated firmly. “The only reason you’d leave here is if you want to leave. But I… I want you to stay.”

Finally, the werewolf looked at him. Yamamoto held his gaze; searching his expression. He could see shock in his eyes, as well as confusion. Gokudera seemed to be debating something before he looked away again and mumbled into the blankets.

“You don’t hate me?”

Yamamoto couldn’t help but laugh outright at that, startling the werewolf.

“Th-that wasn’t supposed to be funny, you bastard!” Gokudera shouted angrily, propping himself up on one arm so that he could glare down at the baseball player.

“I-I’m sorry!” Yamamoto covered his mouth as he tried to stop himself from laughing. “I just thought that _you_ were the one who hated me!”

Gokudera opened his mouth before closing it again and reburying himself under the covers. He glared down at the mattress and started mumbling so quietly that Yamamoto almost didn’t hear him.

“… I don’t hate you…”

A big smile cracked onto Yamamoto’s face, happiness spreading through him. Coming from anyone else, it wouldn’t have been much, but the fact that it came from the werewolf who had attacked him and pointed a gun in his face meant the world to Yamamoto. He wasn’t quite sure why; maybe it was just because Gokudera’s emotions were so raw and hidden that knowing the truth was special because Gokudera was sharing a part of him.

Maybe it was just because it was trust, or at least, a little bit.

The baseball player lifted his tray of sushi and placed it right in front of Gokudera’s nose. The werewolf stared at it incredulously before raising an eyebrow at the ballplayer. Yamamoto’s smile grew.

“Does that mean you’ll eat my food?” He asked hopefully.

All he got in response was a pillow in his face. Yamamoto laughed and pulled the pillow off of him and, when he did, was delighted to see Gokudera shifting to sit upright as he pulled the tray of sushi onto his lap. He picked up a piece, sniffed it, before taking a tentative bite.

Yamamoto smiled even wider, if that was possible.

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

 

\--

 

After Gokudera had finished the sushi, Yamamoto reluctantly went to work. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his work (baseball had been the love of his life since he was a small child!), because he did, but the baseball player was reluctant to leave the house after Gokudera had finally started to trust him again. Yamamoto had to admit to himself that a part of him was afraid that, when he came back, Gokudera would be at his throat with tooth and claw again. After all, no mood seemed to last long when it came to the werewolf.

Yamamoto also worried about facing his teammates. He had no idea how he was going to explain the scar to them. If he was anyone else, he could say that he’d cut himself with a knife, but he was the son of a sushi chef and had been making sushi for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t cut himself with a knife since he was seven years old, and everyone on the team knew that.

As Yamamoto walked along, baseball equipment strapped over his shoulder and his hands shoved deep into pockets of an old jacket he had found (he hadn’t had time to go out and buy another jacket after Gokudera had destroyed his old one), he tried to think of a reasonable story. He doubted anyone on the team would believe him if he said he’d been attacked by a werewolf that he was taking care of. Even Yamamoto himself couldn’t believe it sometimes.

However, before Yamamoto’s lazy brain could think of a good reason, he had reached the baseball field. Swallowing his nervousness, Yamamoto decided he’d just fake it and smile his way through like he’d done his entire schooling career.

A group of his teammates stood in a loose crowd near the bleachers, chatting and drinking Gatorade as they prepared for the day’s practice. Plastering a smile onto his face, Yamamoto lightly jogged over to join his teammates.

His team captain, Takeuchi, noticed Yamamoto first. With his bat slung across his shoulder and his baseball cap on backwards, Takeuchi could easily pull off a high school boy. He was constantly laughing and teasing, loving to play more than anything else. His fiery passion for baseball had caused him to never quite grow up.

“Yo, Yamamoto! What took you so long?” Takeuchi shouted as he waved at his fellow teammate. As Yamamoto came closer, Takeuchi’s face instantly morphed to one of concern and curiosity. “Hey, what the hell happened to your chin?”

“Um… I fell down the stairs!” Yamamoto lied quickly, scratching his cheek awkwardly as he gave his captain a shaky laugh.

Takeuchi gave Yamamoto an incredulous look before slapping him roughly on the back.

“Geez, Moto, you shouldn’t be allowed to live alone! You could kill yourself someday and no one would ever know!” Takeuchi rubbed his fist into Yamamoto’s scalp as he talked, teasingly sounding like a mother hen.

Yamamoto laughed as he tried to escape Takeuchi’s noogie, but he was grateful that it had been his captain that he had run into. Takeuchi could easily tell when someone was lying to him, but he never called them out or asked for the truth. He hated prying, which caused many people to like him, but this quality made him horrible at BS.

“But seriously,” Takeuchi continued, stopping his attack and grabbing Yamamoto by the shoulders; turning him forcefully so that the captain could stare into his face, “you aren’t sick, are you? You don’t look so good; you’ve got some deep bags going on beneath your eyes!”

“I’m fine, really!” Yamamoto adverted his gaze from Takeuchi’s intense stare. “I just haven’t slept that well, that’s all.”

Takeuchi pursed his lips, obviously not satisfied with his younger teammate’s answer, but he didn’t have a chance to respond as the coach finally arrived. As always, the coach pretended that he wasn’t late and began to demand laps the second he set down his over-packed bag.

Yamamoto was glad to escape Takeuchi’s interrogation and just focus on his own thoughts as he ran.

 

\--

 

Practice proceeded smoothly for a while (Yamamoto was glad to find that his exhaustion wasn’t bad enough to affect his performance yet) until it was Yamamoto’s turn for batting practice. He was in left field with one of his teammates, Horiuchi, who was pitching for him; just as he’d done for the other only moments prior. Yamamoto dropped his mitt in the grass and picked up his baseball bat before stretching; preparing to swing.

When he looked up at Horiuchi for the ball, he realized that his teammate was blurry. Blinking in confusion, Yamamoto dropped his pose to rub at an eye with one hand. Did he get dust in his eye from the bases?

Suddenly he sensed movement, and Yamamoto looked up sharply to see a blur coming at him. He blinked multiple times, but his eyes just weren’t focusing and he couldn’t tell what the flying object was. That is, until it was right next to face. Then he could see it with absolute clarity and, too late, he realized that Horiuchi had thrown the baseball while he had been distracted.

Flinching back, the baseball flew inches from Yamamoto’s nose only to smack dead onto his left shoulder. Feeling oddly detached, Yamamoto heard the sound of his shoulder cracking, almost sounding like his bat had hit the ball if he hadn’t known better, before the pain exploded.

Dropping his bat, Yamamoto sank to his knees as he gripped his shoulder. He could feel blood oozing through his sweatshirt, and he was starting to feel light-headed as the pain throbbed in his ears. The world around him seemed to be moving in slow-motion as Horiuchi ran up to him. He was shouting something, probably Yamamoto’s name, but he could only see his teammate’s lips moving. He felt Horiuchi force his way to the wound on Yamamoto’s shoulder, but by then Yamamoto’s vision was starting to swim.

“Yamamoto!”

The baseball player’s eyes narrowed in confusion, as he could’ve sworn he’d heard Gokudera calling his name, before he succumbed to darkness.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto’s first thought when he regained consciousness was that his shoulder hurt. A lot. His second thought, or rather realization, was that someone was attempting to pour water into his mouth and failing miserably.

“Shit,” somebody muttered as water dribbled down Yamamoto’s chin.

The confused baseball player opened his eyes.

One of the first thing he noticed was that his eyes were focusing normally again. He could see some treetops above him clearly; with the ability to pick out as much detail as he should. Yamamoto sighed in relief that his eyes were back to normal; forgetting that someone was still trying to poor water into his mouth. Water sucked into his wind pipe, causing him to sputter and choke as he coughed violently.

“Hey, you’re awake! Took you long enough, you were out for an hour you know?” A hand pounded on Yamamoto’s back in an attempt to help him stop choking, not that it worked. Yamamoto cleared his throat and looked up to see Takeuchi staring down at him in concern. He had to fight the urge to groan. He put on a small smile instead.

“Haha, what the heck happened?”

Apparently, this wasn’t what Takeuchi wanted to hear. He jumped up suddenly, clutching at his hair as he looked down at his teammate with a look of pure horror. He then kneeled down again and clutched Yamamoto’s good shoulder dramatically.

“You don’t remember. Yamamoto, please tell me you remember what happened before you passed out!” He was practically begging.

Yamamoto did remember. He remembered quite clearly. He remembered that his eyes had randomly unfocused and that he hadn’t seen the baseball until it was upon him. He remembered that he had reacted fast enough to avoid getting hit in the face, which may have given him a concussion or killed him, but it had hit his shoulder instead. He also remembered that he had heard Gokudera calling to him before he’d passed out.

“I remember,” Yamamoto assured his captain, raising his arms in a comforting manner. This turned out to be a bad idea because, as soon as the baseball player had moved his left arm, his shoulder began screaming in agonizing pain. Yamamoto winced and quickly put down his arms again.

“You fractured your shoulder blade; I wouldn’t be moving your arm anytime soon. You’re lucky you didn’t injure anything else. The doctor said that 80% of people who fracture their shoulder blade hurt something else, too,” Takeuchi commented as he watched the whole exchange, relatively calmer. “How did you even get hit?”

As Yamamoto explained to his captain what had happened, the doctor returned to wherever he had left to (Yamamoto had absolutely no clue because he’d still been unconscious, and no one gave him an explanation). The baseball player was extremely grateful for the sling looped over his neck by the doctor; effectively keeping the arm attached to his fractured shoulder blade close to his body.

“Alright, young man, here are some pain meds,” the doctor cut in when he was done with the sling, handing Yamamoto a small white bottle. “I want you to take two every time your shoulder starts to hurt, no more and no less, alright? You’ll also have to make some follow-up appointments so we can make sure your shoulder’s healing properly. And absolutely no moving that arm, okay?”

Yamamoto nodded as he took the bottle in his good hand, wondering if he was going to remember everything.

“Will there be anyone at home to take care of you?” The doctor asked.

Yamamoto hesitated. There was someone at home, but he wasn’t sure how enthusiastic Gokudera would be about taking care of him. He also couldn’t just say there was someone at home, not with Takeuchi standing just a few feet away. His captain knew Yamamoto lived alone, and would want to know why he’d said he lived with someone when he supposedly didn’t.

“Um, I can go live with my dad for a while,” Yamamoto blurted out stupidly. The doctor seemed to take it, however, and proceeded to set up an appointment.

When the doctor was done and on his way, Takeuchi kneeled before Yamamoto who was still sitting on the grass. Yamamoto didn’t like the other’s expression, and he wondered if he’d be able to smile his way out of the conversation that he knew was coming.

“Now, Yamamoto, I usually don’t like to pry, but what the hell’s going on with you?” Takeuchi’s face was unnaturally serious. “Like hell you scarred your chin falling down the stairs, and you haven’t slept well. Now you’re telling me your eyes are aren’t focusing, and this happens? What’s up?”

Yamamoto looked down at the grass. What could he say? It would be impossible to tell his captain the truth. Takeuchi was still a child on the inside, but that didn’t mean that he believed in the supernatural. Yamamoto couldn’t blame him, to be honest.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Yamamoto muttered, looking up sheepishly.

“Try me.”

Yamamoto sighed and drew a finger on his right hand through the dirt. Well, he could try, right? Takeuchi wasn’t giving him much else of an option.

“I’m taking care of a werewolf,” Yamamoto answered seriously. Takeuchi blanched, staring at Yamamoto in disbelief for a second. Then his eyes narrowed angrily and he crossed his arms.

“Really, Yamamoto? Wow, okay. If you didn’t want to tell me the truth, you could’ve at least come up with something believable.” With that, Takeuchi stood up and stalked away.

Yamamoto sighed, watching the retreating back of his captain. He hated the fact that Takeuchi was mad at him, but he _had_ told him the truth. Perhaps it _would’ve_ been easier to make up something believable, to pretend that he didn’t live with a psychotic werewolf named Gokudera. It wasn’t his fault that his life had turned into a sci-fi movie.

“I told you so,” Yamamoto whispered sadly, even though Takeuchi was long gone.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto trudged home feeling miserable. The pain meds he’d swallowed before leaving the field hadn’t kicked in yet, and it was beginning to hurt just to breathe. He didn’t know when he’d be able to play baseball again, Takeuchi hated him even though he’d told him the truth, and the baseball player unreasonably blamed Gokudera for everything.

If he’d never looked down that stupid alley, if he’d never been nice enough to take care of the grouchy silver-haired man, if he’d forced him to leave before he found out the other was a werewolf, maybe his shoulder blade would be fine. Maybe he’d still be playing baseball, maybe Takeuchi wouldn’t be mad at him, maybe his stupid eyes would’ve worked.

Yamamoto felt like crying. It was unfair to blame Gokudera, and deep inside he didn’t want to blame the werewolf, but he was just so miserable and in pain that he didn’t know what to think.

He wanted to be a kid again. He wanted to go back to high school, where he didn’t have to care what went on outside the baseball club, where he could sleep all day through his classes and no one would mind. He could live with his dad and make sushi every day. He wouldn’t know that werewolves existed, and he wouldn’t have a fractured shoulder blade.

Pitying himself and wishing he could go home to his dad, Yamamoto made it to his apartment. For a moment, he stood outside and just stared at the door.

Maybe he _could_ go home. After all, he’d told the doctor that he would be there. Gokudera could take care of himself, and maybe he’d be nice enough to take care of Jirou. He could leave whenever he wanted to, so maybe, when Yamamoto returned from his long days of healing, he could pretend that all of it had just been a dream.

Yamamoto shook the crazy thoughts out of his head. He couldn’t abandon Jirou, or Gokudera. After all, there were possibly still people who were hunting the werewolf.

Pulling his key clumsily out of his pocket, the baseball player opened the door and stepped inside. Gokudera was sitting upright on the couch; his back against the arm rest and his legs spread out on the rest of the couch. He had a mug in his hand, which held coffee from the smell wafting around the small apartment. Jirou was sitting on the floor in a lazy curl, and the TV was blaring some show about Loch Ness Monster sightings.

The scene was so mundane that Yamamoto almost thought he was in the wrong apartment.

Gokudera looked up when the door closed behind the baseball player, and he lifted an eyebrow nonchalantly. He had obviously noticed Yamamoto’s sling.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

It wasn’t said angrily or with concern, just curiosity; like Gokudera didn’t really care one way or another that something may be broken, he just wanted to know how it became broken. Yamamoto sighed and dropped his bag on the floor with a loud _thud._

“My eyes were acting up and I got hit with a baseball. Fractured my shoulder blade,” Yamamoto explained wearily. All he really wanted to do was sit down somewhere and cry about how miserable his life was.

Gokudera just nodded and turned his attention back to the TV screen. As the werewolf proceeded to ignore him, Yamamoto’s grief welled up and a tear slipped down his face. Before he could lose his dignity and start bawling like a small child in front of his company, Yamamoto slipped into his bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. He didn’t want to alert the werewolf that something might be wrong.

Careful not to crush his bad arm, Yamamoto lay down awkwardly on his side and stared at the wall as he let himself cry.

He’d never really noticed it before, but his life sucked. After he’d moved out, all he’d ever done was play baseball and visit his dad on holidays. And while people appreciated what he did, and he enjoyed what he did, it was _all_ that he did. He never went out with friends, unless it was the with team eating pizza after a win. In fact, he didn’t have any friends outside the team. Any that he’d had in high school he no longer had contact with. He never went out and interacted with people, and he didn’t even have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, as Yamamoto had begun to suspect long ago that he just didn’t like girls. He’d never even kissed anyone.

He was pathetic, and the only good thing in his life was a werewolf that didn’t care about him.

Though he supposed there was Jirou. The puppy had been a gift from his dad when he had turned eighteen and moved out. To keep him company until he found someone, his dad had explained with a wink. Though the latter obviously hadn’t happened, Yamamoto was countlessly grateful for the dog’s company. Jirou was always happy to see him, and didn’t care that he did the same thing every day and that he had no friends that didn’t play baseball.

With a depressing thought, Yamamoto realized that his best friend was a dog. He really was pathetic.

As Yamamoto wondered if he should “accidentally” overdose on pain meds, his brain shut down and forced him into a fitful sleep. The last thing he saw was Gokudera quietly stepping into the room.


	5. The Past

Yamamoto woke to hot liquid spilling onto his face. Flinching, the baseball player tried to get away from the unbearable burning that seemed to engulf his entire head, but the left side of his body wasn’t moving. Squeezing his eyes even tighter against the pain, Yamamoto whined in a weak attempt to get someone or something to help him.

“Fuck,” someone muttered. A cool cloth was applied to the burning sensation on Yamamoto’s face as someone wiped the liquid off and he sighed in relief. After the pain faded, the baseball player realized that _someone_ was in the same room as him.

Yamamoto opened his eyes.

When his vision stopped swimming, and his eyes decided to focus, the ball player was able to make out Gokudera’s form. The werewolf was sitting on the edge of his bed with a scowl on his face and a bowl of soup in his hand. Yamamoto’s brain eventually pieced together that the soup must’ve been what was spilled onto his face. But that didn’t make any sense. Why would Gokudera try to feed him something while he was sleeping?

“Gokudera?” Yamamoto questioned, his tongue slapping dryly against the top of his mouth. His throat was parched, and his brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly. He felt as if he was moving through a fog as he tried to figure out what was happening. “Why can’t I move my left arm?”

“You broke your shoulder, stupid,” came the snappy reply. Yamamoto watched as Gokudera scooped up a spoonful of soup and blew on it. Once it was cooler, he held it up to Yamamoto’s mouth. The ballplayer swallowed it gratefully, sighing in content as the warmth filled his body. It was much better than when it had been spilled on his face.

After he was silently spoon-fed for a few minutes, the events of the day before began to flood back into his mind. He remembered how his eyes had been acting funny, and he remembered getting hit by the baseball. He remembered how angry Takeuchi was when he’d stalked off.

And he remembered how depressed he’d been.

Openly staring at Gokudera, Yamamoto studied the werewolf. He was muttering under his breath as he blew on the soup, obviously not happy with what he was doing, but doing it anyway. Had the ballplayer been wrong when he’d thought that Gokudera didn’t care about him? But then, maybe he was just returning the favor. Yamamoto had, after all, taken care of him for almost a month.

“What are you looking at?” Gokudera growled. Yamamoto flinched as he realized that he’d been caught staring. Smiling sheepishly, Yamamoto gave a small laugh as he resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck.

“I was just thinking. You’ve never been this nice to me before.”

Gokudera looked away as he stabbed a spoonful of soup towards Yamamoto’s mouth, almost spilling it on the baseball player’s face again. Yamamoto lapped at the soup as he smiled in amusement at the werewolf’s reaction. He’d never thought about it before, but it was really adorable when Gokudera got so embarrassed about these things…

“I’ve never needed to be nice to you before,” Gokudera muttered, breaking Yamamoto out of his weird thoughts. Though he should’ve been offended, Yamamoto just smiled wider. Somehow, he knew that the werewolf didn’t really mean it.

“So you need to now? What for?” Yamamoto teased, raising a challenging eyebrow at the werewolf.

“Because you can’t even fucking eat soup by yourself!” Gokudera snapped, accidentally tipping the bowl a little to the side and spilling soup onto the carpet. Yamamoto laughed.

“I can’t eat soup even with your help, apparently!” Yamamoto’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he pointed at his face with his good hand. All that got him was the remainder of the soup dumped onto his head, but it had luckily cooled down enough that it didn’t burn him and merely drenched his head.

“I don’t need to help you, you know!” Gokudera hissed, standing up abruptly. Instantly Yamamoto’s mirth faded as he reached for Gokudera’s sleeve with his good hand. He looked up at the other imploringly, his wet bangs dripping into his face.

“Hey, I’m sorry, please don’t leave. I don’t think I can handle being alone right now.”

Gokudera looked down at him, his expression unreadable, before he huffed and sat back on the bed. Yamamoto was instantly happier as he took the now empty bowl off of his head and placed it on the nightstand next to his bed. _Finally_ he’d be able to have some bonding time with the werewolf! Even though they’d lived under the same roof for nearly a month, the baseball player knew almost nothing about his guest and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

“Were you born a werewolf?” Yamamoto asked enthusiastically. He knew from what he’d read in fairytales that werewolves usually changed because they’d been bitten by another werewolf, but they were also usually extremely hairy men with wolfish qualities. He’d never heard of a werewolf that was a pure wolf when it changed, so maybe the bitten part would be different too.

“No,” Gokudera snorted. “There aren’t enough of us to reproduce sexually. I was bitten.”

Yamamoto leaned forward with the excitement of a child being told a bedtime story. “How?”

“I was attacked by a wolf when I was eight.” Gokudera was giving Yamamoto a strange, thoughtful look. The ballplayer could only guess what he was thinking.

“Have you ever met any other werewolves?”

Gokudera’s expression hardened and Yamamoto realized that he’d crossed some kind of line. He shrank back as the werewolf tightened and untightened his hands into fists.

“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” he hissed and Yamamoto wished he’d never started questioning the other.

He sighed. He knew what would happen next. Gokudera would get angry, maybe even get a little violent, and storm out of the room without giving Yamamoto a second glance. Yamamoto would lose his chance to learn more about the other, and once more he would be faced with the idea that the werewolf hated him. Swallowing depression, Yamamoto tried to backtrack.

“Sorry… Hey, you can ask anything of me if you like!” Yamamoto smiled weakly. He didn’t want Gokudera to leave him alone with his thoughts.

To his relief, Gokudera didn’t get up from the bed. The werewolf seemed to relax a little once the topic changed, but his expression was still guarded. Yamamoto didn’t mind too much, though. He was just happy the werewolf hadn’t left.

“How are you so damn happy all of the time?” The question surprised Yamamoto; he hadn’t thought that the werewolf would comply. He pondered it. The ballplayer had been raised by a joyous father, and the bubbly mood had passed onto him without him ever really noticing. He did know, however, that he often used the happiness to mask the real pain and sorrow he felt. He didn’t like to worry people, and he stubbornly believed that if he kept smiling everything would be alright.

“Is there a reason not to be happy?” Yamamoto asked innocently, deciding not to figure out how to voice his deepest feelings.

“Of course there is!” Gokudera snapped, clutching at the blanket with his fingers. He seemed agitated, making Yamamoto wonder if he’d crossed the line again. “You’ve fucking broken your shoulder! You can’t play baseball, and you’re holed up in a stuffy apartment with me for the next few weeks! I’d be depressed if I was you.”

Yamamoto winced, deciding not to mention that he had been depressed, and that he probably would be again if Gokudera decided to leave. However, a concerned frown developed onto his features at the werewolf’s implications.

“I enjoy your company, Gokudera.”

The werewolf looked up sharply, searching Yamamoto’s face. The baseball player didn’t flinch under his gaze and met his eyes. Yamamoto wanted Gokudera to know that he meant it, that he enjoyed it when they could just interact together without any anger or fear between them.

“You’re just saying that.” The werewolf scoffed and looked out Yamamoto’s bedroom window. The baseball player sighed and followed his gaze. It saddened him to know that Gokudera hated himself so strongly, but he didn’t know what he could do to change his mind. Gokudera gave off the impression that he didn’t like anyone, and he certainly didn’t listen to Yamamoto.

As they stared out the window in silence, Yamamoto drifted into his own thoughts. He wondered what he could do about his angry captain, Takeuchi. In Yamamoto’s entire life, no one had ever been truly mad at him. He got along easily with people, and he was kind to everyone he met. Gokudera had been the only one who Yamamoto couldn’t get to laugh by just being cheery.

What had happened to the werewolf to make him so angry?

Suddenly, without warning, Gokudera leaped forward and yanked the curtains closed in front of the window. Yamamoto blinked, startled, as Gokudera spun around, a wild look in his eyes. Fear pulsed in Yamamoto’s brain for a moment; the scene was all too familiar. However, there was something different about this time: Gokudera wasn’t convulsing or growling, and the wild look in his eyes wasn’t crazed.

It was fear.

“Gokudera, what…?” Yamamoto began, only to be interrupted as the werewolf slapped his hand over the baseball player’s mouth.

“Don’t say a word,” Gokudera murmured, his voice barely a whisper in Yamamoto’s ear. Confused, but knowing better than to ask questions, Yamamoto did as he was told and shut his mouth.

They sat in tense silence on the bed, neither one moving an inch. Gokudera’s eyes were closed as he focused on something unknown to Yamamoto, who wondered if the werewolf before him could hear his heart pounding in his throat. He had no idea what Gokudera had seen outside, but the fact that it had scared him left Yamamoto terrified.

Eventually Gokudera opened his eyes, looking at Yamamoto uncertainly. The baseball player held his gaze, letting out a long breath as he gently placed his right hand on top of the werewolf’s.

A knock on the door broke the silence. Gokudera stiffened, before he leaned forward to breathe into Yamamoto’s ear.

“Whatever you do, don’t let them come inside.” Gokudera’s tone was so desperate that Yamamoto wouldn’t have been able to say no even if he’d wanted to. He nodded, squeezing Gokudera’s hand.

The knock came again, more agitated this time. Out in the living room, Yamamoto heard Jirou begin to bark and the Akita’s nails scratching on the door. Gokudera gave the baseball player one more stare before dashing under the bed. Yamamoto hesitated, his stomach tightening in dread.

Had that been regret in Gokudera’s eyes?

Jirou started whining as the impatient people outside knocked even harder, snapping Yamamoto out of his thoughts and motivating him to get off of the bed. As he moved slowly to the door, the baseball player swallowed and made himself a promise. No matter the risk to his own life, or whatever else happened, he would protect the werewolf that he had taken into his home and had begun to care for.

Yamamoto reached the door. Jirou circled around his legs, anxious whines escaping his throat. The baseball player stared into his puppy’s eyes before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Two men stood on the doorstep, one slightly ahead of the other and his fist posed in the air as he prepared to knock again. They were both bald with pale complexions and dark sunglasses. The one who had been knocking wore a black suit and a stiff, square backpack. The other man wore a brown suit and had a strange device in his hands. It looked like a Lab Quest with a mini satellite sticking out of the top that rotated slowly. The man was working on it with a stylus.

Yamamoto was already suspicious of them.

Black Suit, realizing that Yamamoto had opened the door, lowered his raised fist and put on a bright smile. Brown Suit kneeled down and pointed the Lab Quest at Jirou, who whined and backed away from it. After a moment, Brown Suit stood back up with a shake of his head.

“Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning,” Black Suit was saying. Yamamoto just stared at him as he pushed Jirou away from the door with his foot, not wanting the poor puppy to be even more frightened by these men than he already was. The baseball player wondered if he should fake a smile for the Bald Suits. “We hoped that you would give us your cooperation: there’s an escaped convict on the loose. He broke out of a military jail in Nagoya and is highly dangerous.”

Digging around in his pocket, Black Suit withdrew a small photograph. He showed it to Yamamoto. “If you see this man, don’t approach him for your own safety, but call the number on the back of this picture. We’ll come right away and take care of him.”

Yamamoto swallowed, his hands going clammy.

The photograph was of Gokudera. The werewolf was even skinner than he was now, and he had a giant electric collar around his neck. He was snarling, and Yamamoto could see bruises and cuts all over the werewolf’s face. The baseball player couldn’t stop looking at it as the photo was forced into his hand.

“I’ll let you know if I see him,” Yamamoto found himself saying. However the Bald Suits stayed where they were, despite the baseball player’s hopes that they would leave. Brown Suit was frowning down at the screen of his device.

“Young man, I’m not sure you understand how serious this is. This man could kill innocent citizens.” Black Suit joined his partner in frowning.

“I do understand,” Yamamoto replied more forcefully. He hoped that the Bald Suits couldn’t hear his heart pounding. “I’ll let you know if I see him.”

The Bald Suits still obviously had their doubts, but Yamamoto wasn’t going to wait for them to force their way inside. He remembered how desperate Gokudera’s commands had been, and now he knew why. These had to be the men who had given him the wounds he’d had when Yamamoto had found him in the alleyway.

Yamamoto slammed the door in the Bald Suits’ faces and held his breath until he heard reluctant footsteps retreating from the doorstep. When they were gone, Yamamoto sagged against the door and stared down at the picture he still held in his hand.

There was just one thing he didn’t understand. He’d initially assumed that the men had been lying about the whole escaped convict thing to hide the fact that Gokudera was a werewolf, but the picture was too real. If they were just hunting werewolves, it would’ve been impossible to capture Gokudera in a convenient position to photoshop the collar and all of the wounds.

Was Gokudera really a criminal?

Caught up in the picture, Yamamoto almost missed Gokudera slip into the room. The werewolf was moving quietly and slowly, as if he wasn’t quite convinced that the Bald Suits had left. Looking up, his thoughts falling over themselves in turmoil, Yamamoto carefully searched Gokudera’s face. He couldn’t get the image of Gokudera’s wolf form leaping at him, teeth bared and a growl resounding from his throat. Gazing at him now, the baseball player could easily picture a calculating look in those green eyes and those pointy teeth baring down on his throat…

“Yamamoto?” Gokudera was close to him now, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed him. “Is that fear?”

Yamamoto’s throat was as dry as a slab of wood. At this distance, it would be all too easy for the werewolf to stab a knife in his gut or shoot him in the face before he had time to react. All he could do was move his arm slightly and hand Gokudera the picture.

Taking the picture, Gokudera stared at it as his eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“Did those bastards give you this?” Gokudera flipped the photo over, scoffed at the number scrawled on the back, and turned his gaze judgingly back to Yamamoto. “You don’t actually believe this shit, do you?”

“I have to know the truth.” Yamamoto couldn’t meet the werewolf’s gaze. Sure, they’d lived together for a month, but what did he know about Gokudera, really? “Why were you in jail? Is your being a werewolf really why they’re after you?”

“This is bullshit—”

“Gokudera, I have to know!” Their eyes met this time. “You don’t know how scared I was when you attacked me. I don’t want to think that it could happen again. I want to trust you, I really do, but I … I have to know.”

Gokudera searched his face for a minute before turning away, his eyes narrowed in torment. Yamamoto couldn’t stop the twinge of guilt in in his heart for making the werewolf feel such pain, but he didn’t back down. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go on thinking of the possibility that he might’ve saved the wrong person.

Turning around, Gokudera stalked away. For a heart-wrenching moment, Yamamoto thought the werewolf would refuse to tell him anything and shut himself in the baseball player’s bedroom once again. However, Gokudera stopped short and dropped himself onto the couch. Without looking back, the werewolf called back to Yamamoto.

“Sit down. This’ll take a while. I’m not going to pretend this is a fairytale.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

 

\--

 

_Gokudera’s paws trudged through the mud, the electric collar digging into his throat as he was pushed forward. Up ahead, he could see his fellow werewolves barely moving on their own, heads down, tails dragging in the mud. There weren’t as many as there should’ve been: only a few had survived. Humans in all gray, with their accursed guns hanging from their belts, walked along the lines of wolves, making sure none got out of line. The sounds of one of them whistling tickled Gokudera’s ear fur, causing him to growl and bare his teeth. The full moon shone above them, a painful reminder of why they were there._

_It was all too fresh in the silver wolf’s memory. The pack had been running in the open grass, relishing the cool night air on their pelts, when gun fire suddenly shot down from above. The wolves had scattered, confusion and panic prickling through them as they tried to find a means of escape. Most hadn’t been so lucky. Or perhaps they were, as the survivors were rounded up like prisoners and taken to what could only be called a jail._

_Gokudera was broken out of his painful memories as he was shoved into a cell. Snarling, he leaped at his captor with his teeth snapping, only to have the bars closed on his muzzle. Growling in frustration, Gokudera grabbed a bar between his teeth and shook his head violently._

_It didn’t budge._

_Teeth aching, Gokudera released his grip and stuck his muzzle between the gap in the bars to look around outside his cell. His cage faced a corridor with other cages lined along all sides, smashed together with no space in between. The silver werewolf’s keen sense of smell told him that the side in which his cage sat was the same. As he scanned the cages across from him, he wasn’t surprised to recognize the pelts and scents of his fellow pack mates. The smell of sickness and death clouded the air._

_In the cage directly across from Gokudera’s, Tsuna’s brother Basil laid on his side. The golden brown werewolf was so skinny that his ribs were sharply defined beneath his pelt, and the slightly erratic movements of his chest were the only things indicating that he was still alive. Growling softly, Gokudera tried to get Basil’s attention. However, the werewolf either didn’t hear him or had no energy to respond._

_Fighting back sorrow and despair, Gokudera turned his head as much as he could to try and find his alpha. Tsuna was their only hope. He was always there for the pack in times of hardship, and had done so much to keep the pack healthy and alive. Without him, the only thing left for the werewolves was destruction. Opening his mouth to let the different scents roll onto his tongue, Gokudera searched desperately for the odor he knew better than his own name._

_And suddenly he picked up his scent._

_Ears pricking, Gokudera swiveled his head until he could focus his gaze on the cage furthest to the end in his field of vision. In it sat the brown werewolf that had saved Gokudera’s life, his proud head buried in his paws._

Tsuna! _Gokudera called, willing his alpha to hear him; willing him not to be in the same state as Basil._

_After a brief hesitation, Tsuna lifted his head. However, the look in his eyes sank Gokudera’s hopes almost immediately. Lifeless and unfocused, Tsuna portrayed none of the determination that had built so much of his character. But Gokudera had to try._

What’s the plan? How are we going to get out of here?

_Tsuna stared at him blankly for a moment before shaking his head and laying it back on his paws._

There is no plan.

But we can’t just give up! _Gokudera growled, desperation surging through him. Tsuna couldn’t give up now! Not after everything they’d been through! Baring his teeth, the silver werewolf bit down on his bars again and began tugging on them so hard that his whole mouth ached._ Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cage?!

We won’t be here that long. _Tsuna looked up at him sadly._ They’ll kill us soon enough.

And you’re just going to take that?! _Gokudera gave up on the bars, instead opting to pace back and forth. There had to be something he could do to reignite Tsuna’s determination._

Kyoko is dead. They killed her right in front of me, and I couldn’t do a thing to help her. What else is there to live for? _With that, Tsuna turned his back to Gokudera and lay down._

What about the pack?! Are you just going to give up on us?! _Gokudera growled, but Tsuna ignored him. Solemnly and suddenly, he had chosen his fate; as well as that of everyone in the pack._

_Despair rose like a wave in Gokudera’s chest until he found it impossible to breath. His alpha had given up. The pack was doomed. Every last one of them would be killed, and for no good reason. They weren’t beasts, or monsters, as their captors seemed so intent on believing, and yet they would be exterminated without a drop of resistance. But Gokudera wasn’t about to take that. He would survive._

_His sudden determination wavered, though, as he stopped pacing and plopped down on the cold floor. A stench wafted through the air from the cell across from his, bringing bile to his throat._

_Basil was dead._

 

_\--_

_Gokudera lost track of the time. How long had he been sitting in his cell, watching as one by one his pack mates were nabbed from their cages, never to return? Days? Weeks? Months could have passed, for all he knew; his complete isolation from the moon prevented him from transforming. Had it been a year already?_

_All he could focus on was his escape. He knew he only had one chance and, if he blew it, he’d die along with the rest of the only family he’d ever had. He didn’t know what he’d do if he managed to escape, where he would go; but none of that mattered now. All he needed was to get out. He was sick of the constant scent of death and the fact that he was watching his entire family walk to their deaths. At least they hadn’t taken Tsuna yet._

_But, after what must’ve been years, Gokudera’s time finally came. The black boots that he’d seen stomp back and forth outside his cage, too many times to count, stopped in front of him. Gokudera lifted his head and glared at his captors, calculating his chances as he looked at the men. They were both muscular and equipped with a gun._

_He knew his chances were slim. But he had no choice. He would escape, or die trying._

_“This one still has some spunk,” the old fart with the keys to Gokudera’s cells scoffed as he fumbled with the lock. “We might actually get to enjoy killing this one!”_

_Anger swelled in his chest, but Gokudera said nothing as his executioner opened the door. The other man came in and shackled the werewolf’s arms and legs. Every muscle in Gokudera’s body willed him to resist but he couldn’t, not yet._

_“Come along, you beast. Join the others where you truly belong.” The man seemed to enjoy taunting Gokudera as he pulled him to his feet and pushed him out of the cell and through the corridors. The werewolf tried to map his surroundings, so he could know not to go back this way, but the bright light in the hallways was confusing him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything but darkness._

_To his surprise, Gokudera was taken outside. Immediately he knew that his chances were better; sure, there was a barbed wire fence surrounding the jail, but Gokudera had more space to maneuver outside and he didn’t have to worry about finding his way through a confusing building to escape._

_In front of him, a line of men stood stalk still with rifles in their hands. A bald man stood behind them. He seemed to be the ones giving orders and he grinned maliciously as Gokudera was pushed against the wall of the jail, left to face his executioners._

_“I hope you enjoy hell.”_

_The men cocked their guns. Gokudera tensed, getting ready to dash for it, when suddenly his entire body jolted. He fell to the ground, spasms rippling along his skin. Bullets fired just above him, barely missing. Without even looking up, Gokudera knew that the full moon was shining bright and full. It had saved his life and, for once, he didn’t fight the transformation. His wolf reflexes could save him._

_Pain exploded as his molecules rearranged themselves, but he willed them to go faster. He could be shot while he was immobile during his transformation._

_“What are you idiots doing?!” The baldy was screeching. “Shoot him while he’s down, what are you waiting for?!”_

_But it was too late. His legs considerably skinner, the silver wolf stepped out of his shackles. Growling, he dashed madly to the left to skirt the line of gunmen; his gaze fixed on the far fence. If he ran fast enough, he was sure he could leap over it. But he had to get there first._

_“Get him! Get him!” Gokudera heard the humans shouting as they scrambled to catch him, but their surprise caused them to be slow and clumsy._

_Suddenly, however, the bald man appeared in front of him. He was unarmed, as far as Gokudera could tell. A shot from behind whizzed past Gokudera’s ear, taking some fur with it. He realized he’d have to go right over the man; after all, they wouldn’t shoot if they risked hitting their boss. Pushing his legs harder, he focused all of his energy in his back legs and leaped._

_Pain blossomed in his stomach. Looking down, Gokudera cursed himself as he realized that the man had been armed; his knife now stuck into his stomach and cutting a deep gash as the wolf sailed over him._

_He landed clumsily, paws slipping in his own blood. But he kept running. He was home free now; there was nothing in front of him but the fence. He was so close. Shouting continued to sound from behind him, but he ignored it in favor of once again transferring what little energy he had left to his back legs. Though his blood loss was starting to make him dizzy, Gokudera leaped._

_He almost made it. He reached the top of the fence, but the barbed wire caught into his front leg, preventing him from moving forward. His body slammed into the fence, electricity surging through him as his collar signaled to the fence’s defense mechanism. Howling desperately, Gokudera’s back claws scrabbled on the fence as he pushed himself up and over. Another shot passed over his head as he fell to the ground on the other side of the fence. Gokudera heard his bone crack as he landed on the same leg that had gotten trapped in the fence._

_Exhilaration and adrenaline was the only thing that got him back to his paws. He was over the fence, but he had to keep moving lest they catch him again. Excruciating pain filled his senses with every step he took, but the wolf somehow managed to put distance between himself and his captors._

_A town rose in the distance. Gokudera felt more than sensed the change in scenery, for grass had changed to cement under his paws. Stumbling into a back alley, Gokudera threw himself against the wall. The tattered collar on his neck snapped in half, falling to the ground. Gokudera followed it down. He had no idea how far he’d travelled, or if he was safe. But the pain had gotten to be so much that it hurt just to breathe and he’d lost so much blood that he couldn’t see straight._

_Despite his best efforts, Gokudera succumbed to darkness._

 

_\--_

Yamamoto was awake long after Gokudera had told him the whole story. He didn’t want to admit that it had disturbed him deeply; so much so that he was still awake at three in the morning, despite the drowsiness from his pain medication. It scared him that people existed who would mass murder a group of innocent human beings just because they occasionally turned into wolves.

Looking over, the baseball player stared at the back of the werewolf who had fallen asleep next to him. He was fully conscious of the space between them that neither of them dared to close, but just having the other there was enough. Terrified enough as it was, Yamamoto was glad he didn’t have to attempt sleep alone; even if he didn’t understand why Gokudera had willingly climbed into the bed next to him. It didn’t matter why. He had, and that was all that mattered.

The baseball player was still in awe over the fact that Gokudera had been able to run with his injuries. Yamamoto had treated them; he’d seen how serious they were. He himself merely had a fractured shoulder blade but could barely move. And yet, somehow, the werewolf had mustered the energy to keep moving and save himself.

Perhaps it was because he’d already lost everything.

All of Gokudera’s actions made sense now. His constant anger; his distrust of everything. Yamamoto could now point out a reason to why Gokudera always seemed to hate himself. Though, from Yamamoto’s view, there had been nothing he could’ve done, the baseball player could tell that Gokudera blamed himself for the death of his pack. He had opted to save himself instead of trying to free the others that had still been alive when he’d escaped. He had abandoned his entire family to escape into a life of deadly hide and seek.

Feeling immense sorrow for the werewolf, Yamamoto realized how selfish he had been when he’d been depressed earlier. Gokudera had been through so much. It wasn’t fair of the baseball player to blame him for his own problems; especially not now that he knew the truth. It no longer mattered if the werewolf hated him or not. Yamamoto had vowed to protect Gokudera with his life, and he wasn’t about to back out of that now.

Being careful not to move the arm attached to his fractured shoulder, Yamamoto dared to close the space between him and the werewolf. He rested his head against Gokudera’s back, right between the shoulder blades.

As he drifted into sleep, and he felt the werewolf tense against him, Yamamoto realized that Gokudera had been just as awake as he was.


	6. The Shift

After that night, Gokudera returned to the couch. On the surface, Yamamoto acknowledged that it was only practical; getting close to the werewolf could be dangerous. Gokudera was a wanted man, wanted by people out to kill him. And after Gokudera had lost so much, Yamamoto knew he couldn’t be selfish enough to place himself on the list of things the werewolf had lost.

Yet still, he couldn’t stop the tinge of hurt and loneliness deep inside him as he lay alone in bed, favoring his bad arm.

He couldn’t entirely explain it, but things between the baseball player and the werewolf had become awkward. Though Yamamoto himself knew that he had no idea how he felt anymore, he believed that it was mostly Gokudera’s attitude that had changed. He was as grumpy as ever, but most of his anger seemed to have subsided; Yamamoto had even caught him staring at the baseball player as he had stumbled around the apartment. He would quickly look away, and deny anything if Yamamoto asked, but sometimes he would just stop mid-shouting, close his mouth, and refuse to look at Yamamoto for a couple of hours.

It was like the werewolf didn’t know how to react around him anymore. And honestly, Yamamoto was starting to feel the same way. Gokudera had always been unpredictable, but now it seemed more so than ever.

Yamamoto wasn’t even sure why things had changed. Perhaps it was the fact that Gokudera had revealed his past, opening himself to someone else for the first time since the death of his pack. Or something. The baseball player had only inklings of ideas; all he knew was that _something_ had changed, and he could feel that as clearly as if someone had punched him in the face.

The atmosphere between Yamamoto and Gokudera was completely different. He just didn’t know how or why.

Sighing, Yamamoto rolled onto his side delicately, watching his left arm. It had stopped hurting as much (though that was probably because of the pain meds), and Yamamoto was due for a check in with the kind doctor that had worked with him on the field. When that day came, he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do. There was no doubt he would need help getting to the hospital, but Gokudera wouldn’t be able to come with him because of all of the men hunting him down. The baseball player had also neglected to tell his father that he’d even broken his shoulder blade.

Yamamoto pushed the thoughts out of his restless mind. He had a strong policy of crossing the bridge when he came to it; he firmly believed there was no point in getting so worked up over something until the time came. The only way he stayed sane was by focusing on the problems he had to get through that day. A friend he’d had in high school told him it made him an idiot, but Yamamoto didn’t think so. Just one problem at a time was the only motto he could truly rely on.

And his current problem was dealing with Gokudera. He had pretended to be asleep for a long time, but he couldn’t hide forever. As soon as he knew he was awake, the werewolf would come in with a fresh batch of slightly burnt soup; it had become routine after Yamamoto had injured himself. But lately things had been so awkward that Yamamoto hesitated to make it his first event of the day.

Struggling to sit up, dizziness washed over the baseball player. Leaning on his right arm, Yamamoto stopped, groaned, and closed his eyes for a moment. Another change that had been happening more and more recently- these dizzy spells. They would hit him randomly, but they would hit him hard. He couldn’t move or do anything until the dizziness passed, which seemed to take longer the more he received them. He hadn’t told anyone about them (which he was starting to regret as the spells got worse), but he didn’t want to worry anyone; he also couldn’t deny that he was worried that it was some weird after effect of his broken shoulder blade, and that it would prevent him from playing baseball ever again.

He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he couldn’t play baseball again. Baseball was all that he had.

With a refreshing clarity, the dizziness passed. Breathing a sigh of relief, Yamamoto made it to a full sitting position and cleared his throat loudly. Within a second, Gokudera barged through the door with a bowl of soup in his hands, scowling as usual. As Yamamoto took a closer look at his roommate, however, he realized that Gokudera was surprisingly unkempt, which wasn’t usual at all. Even when he had been unable to move efficiently, the werewolf had always taken great care and pride of his appearance (since Yamamoto had discovered that the other turned into a wolf occasionally, he figured it was to make himself appear more human to those out to get him). But now, his hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed and his eyes were bloodshot, dark bags circling them below.

Alarmed, Yamamoto sat up straighter.

“Gokudera, are you okay?”

“Fine,” the werewolf snapped, a split second after Yamamoto had gotten his last word out. He slammed the bowl of soup onto the table next to Yamamoto’s bed, drops splashing over the sides. “Everything’s fucking fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yamamoto tried to catch the werewolf’s eye, but he would just turn away. “You don’t look too good.”

“You don’t look too good yourself, fucktard.” Gokudera glared at him before turning around and marching back out the way he came, slamming the door so that it rattled on its hinges.

Yamamoto blinked at the closed door, stunned. It had been weeks since Gokudera had harshly sworn at him, let alone leave him alone before he’d finished every drop of the soup. It was completely different than the awkward atmosphere that had engulfed them just the day before.

“Not again,” Yamamoto sighed before pushing off the blankets and struggling to his feet. Things had changed again, and now Yamamoto had even less of an idea of where he stood with Gokudera than he had previously.

Which meant it was time for him to go find out.

“Gokudera?” Yamamoto opened the door to his bedroom to see Gokudera lying on his back on the couch. One arm was bent over his eyes, covering most of his face. The other was flopped over the side of the couch, where Jirou lay comfortably nuzzling it. At first, it didn’t seem that he’d heard the baseball player, so he opened his mouth to repeat himself.

“What the hell do you want?”

Yamamoto closed his mouth. What _did_ he want? He knew what he wanted; he wanted Gokudera to stop being so closed up to him; he wanted to sit down with the werewolf and ask him how he felt about Yamamoto, why he stuck around when he could leave whenever he wanted; he wanted to be able to live without being in constant fear of overstepping the precise boundaries Gokudera had left out for him; he wanted to _know_ Gokudera. But he knew that Gokudera would never grant him any of those wishes. Defense seemed to be the only thing that the werewolf knew how to do.

“I need to go to the doctor’s today,” Yamamoto said instead, deciding that just then. It was probably better that he got the appointment over with, since he had been putting it off for some time. “I’m going to need help getting there.”

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with me,” Gokudera growled. His arm still covered his face. “You know damn well I can’t go with you.”

Yamamoto didn’t know what to say. Yes, he did know that. But he also knew that a small part of him wanted Gokudera to come with him with all of its being, to care enough to want to come with him. To make sure he was alright.

“I know, but-”

“But what?!” Gokudera sat up with such zeal that Jirou jumped about a foot in the air, giving a shrill bark before scampering off into Yamamoto’s room. Gokudera’s face was red with anger as he glared hotly at the baseball player. “What the hell do you want from me?! You take me in, you treat me like a person, even when you know the truth! You know that people are hunting me down, that your life is in danger, but you don’t kick me out! The hell is wrong with you?! Are you mentally insane? You… You!”

Gokudera stopped shouting, turning his head sharply to the side. His eyes narrowed in pain as he gripped the fabric of the couch so tightly in his hands that his knuckles turned white.

“Why the fuck won’t you leave me alone?” Gokudera’s voice was so soft and broken that Yamamoto would’ve bet all of his money that it hadn’t come out of the proud werewolf.

He didn’t know what to think. How was he supposed to react? He didn’t know why he did the things he did. Ever since he’d found Gokudera in the alleyway, he had known that he would never be able to just leave the man there to die. Even when the werewolf had been rude beyond belief, even when he knew the truth, even when he knew his life was in danger, he wouldn’t leave him. He’d even pledged to himself that he would protect Gokudera with his life. But he couldn’t say why he felt so strongly about it. Would he have felt the same way if it had been someone other than Gokudera? If it had been a woman?

“Do you want me to throw you out, Gokudera?” Yamamoto responded quietly. He was scared of the answer. What if Gokudera really did want to leave and he was just waiting for Yamamoto to finish his convalescence before he beat feet out of there?

Gokudera opened his mouth but then closed it again, gazing over at Yamamoto. The baseball player couldn’t read his expression; it was an emotion he’d never seen on the werewolf’s face before. In fact, he couldn’t recall seeing the expression on anyone’s face before.

Just then, never knowing if Gokudera would’ve supplied an answer or not, a short knock came on the door. Gokudera froze, his eyes widening as his expression slipped into the blank guard he always kept on when he didn’t want people to know what he was thinking. Yamamoto could see one emotion on it, though- fear. He couldn’t tell if it was from the mysterious person at the door, or if, for just a second, Gokudera had left himself wide open for Yamamoto.

Without a sound, the werewolf slipped into Yamamoto’s room and closed the door.

Left alone to face the visitor, Yamamoto steeled himself as he slowly made his way to the door. What if the Bald Suits had returned with their high tech gadgets to take Gokudera away? Had they finally discovered that their machines hadn’t been wrong when they’d pointed themselves to Yamamoto’s apartment? Scenarios ran through his mind a mile a minute as Yamamoto opened the door. When he saw who it was, his mouth dropped open in shock.

“Takeuchi?”

“Why so surprised? Did you think I’d given up on you completely?” A wide smile split Yamamoto’s baseball captain’s face as he invited himself into Yamamoto’s apartment. “Well, to tell the truth, I’m here to apologize.”

As he closed the door behind his welcomed guest, Yamamoto was so relieved that it hadn’t been werewolf hunters that he’d completely missed everything Takeuchi had been saying. When he saw Takeuchi giving him an expecting look, Yamamoto felt the smile he always relied on for tough situations itch its way onto his face.

“Huh?”

“Man, you really are spacey! Are you sure that baseball didn’t hit you in the head?” Takeuchi tsked in mock annoyance, but his smile gave him away. “I said I was here to apologize.”

“Oh, you really don’t need to do that-!” Yamamoto tried to argue, but Takeuchi wouldn’t have any of it.

“Yes, I do. I acted poorly, especially since you had just injured yourself. You needed help and care, and I just walked away from you. For that, I really am sorry. Besides, that werewolf of yours was just a figment of your groggy imagination! No one could’ve thought clearly in a situation like that!”

Yamamoto’s smile faded from his face. He was immensely relieved that Takeuchi had come to apologize, and that he wasn’t really mad at him, but the fact that Takeuchi still thought he’d made up the werewolf saddened him. Though, really, what had he expected? If he didn’t know it to be true, he wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him their roommate was a werewolf. Besides, it would probably be easier that Takeuchi didn’t know anything about Gokudera.

“Haha, what werewolf could you be talking about?” Yamamoto laughed, scratching the back of his neck as he plastered his smile back on his face. He hoped it was convincing.

“See, you don’t even remember!” Takeuchi laughed good-naturedly as Yamamoto bathed in relief. His captain had bought his faked ignorance without even batting an eyelash. It was probably easier for him to accept than an injured player’s babble about a werewolf living in his apartment. “So there. I’ve apologized. Maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for!” Yamamoto smiled. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

“Well that’s a relief!” Takeuchi let out a huge sigh, the force of it disturbing some papers sitting on the desk by the couch. As the two of them laughed, Takeuchi went over to the desk to straighten the papers again.

“Huh? You got one of these too, Moto?”

Puzzled, Yamamoto followed Takeuchi over to the couch to see what he was glancing at. When the object came into view, he paled. Takeuchi was holding the picture of Gokudera that the Bald Suits had given him. Though it was different; someone had taken a red sharpie and drew a thick, red ‘X’ through the photo. On the back of the photo, as Yamamoto saw when Takeuchi flipped it over, that same someone had blotched out the phone number on the back, writing “BASTARDS” over the crossed out numbers.

Yamamoto gulped. How was he supposed to explain this? Gokudera had obviously done it- when, the baseball player didn’t know. But Takeuchi would recognize it as something Yamamoto would never do; he wasn’t sure if _he_ remembered the last time he’d sworn so passionately. If he ever had.

“You didn’t do this, did you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. Takeuchi was looking at him now, his eyebrow raised slightly. Yamamoto shuffled uncomfortably, reaching for the photo to store away in his back pocket.

“Um… A friend came over, and he felt very strongly that the Bald Suits- that is, the men who supplied this photo- shouldn’t be going around advertising about a criminal. He… thought it would set the public into too much of a panic,” Yamamoto rambled, wincing as his lame excuse got longer and longer.

“Well, he certainly felt strongly about it,” Takeuchi muttered. Yamamoto didn’t think he believed him (who would?), but he didn’t have the energy or desire to come up with another explanation. Takeuchi would just have to take what he could get. Besides, Yamamoto could always claim later that the pain medication was making him loopy.

“Uh, Takeuchi, while you’re here,” Yamamoto jumped to change the subject as something occurred to him, “I need to go to the doctor’s today, but I don’t think I can get there on my own. Mind helping a guy out?”

“Sure, man, no problem!” Takeuchi seemed eager to let the subject go. “You should’ve said something sooner!”

“I thought you were still mad at me,” Yamamoto explained truthfully, though he honestly hadn’t even thought about asking his team captain for help. He’d been too distracted by how much he’d wanted Gokudera to go with him.

“Well, I’m over that!” Takeuchi replied, looking at him sympathetically. “So come on, let’s go! You’re lucky I brought my car; there’s no way in hell I’m going to carry you!”

 

\--

 

The check-up went fine. The doctor gave Yamamoto a new sling and another batch of pain medication, saying that the bone was healing up nicely but would still take a few weeks longer to be in top condition once more. Until then, Yamamoto was forbidden to even so much as think about baseball. He’d just have to live off his paid leave like he’d been doing, which was fine if he didn’t miss his job so much.

Yamamoto said nothing about the dizzy spells, and the doctors found nothing that alarmed them. At that point, the baseball player figured that the dizzy spells would go away as soon as his arm was fully better; after all, they may just be a result of the pain medication.

Takeuchi pulled his car up in front of Yamamoto’s apartment complex. He leaned out of the window as Yamamoto got out.

“Can you make it up on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Yamamoto high-fived Takeuchi’s extended hand. “Thanks, Takeuchi. For everything.”

“Anytime, man. Just remember that you can always call on me!” Takeuchi promised before pulling his head back into the car. He gave a short wave. “I gotta go feed my cat, but I’ll be sure to check up on you occasionally. Later!”

And with that, Takeuchi drove away.

Yamamoto trudged up to his apartment with heavy footsteps. He really didn’t want to go home and restart his conversation with Gokudera where they had left off. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the werewolf, and what he’d said to him, but he still hadn’t come up with a reasonable, or truthful, answer. He just hoped that Gokudera had forgotten, even though he knew he wouldn’t. Gokudera seemed to have an amazing memory for things he wanted to forget.

Opening the door to his apartment, Yamamoto stepped inside. As soon as he had closed the door behind him, a fierce dizzy spell hit him and he cried out as he dropped to the floor. Vaguely he could feel his body cry out in pain as his injured arm banged the floor, but the nauseating pain in his head had most of his attention. It was a bad spell; the worst he’d ever gotten. The world spun around him and he could barely breathe without recoiling in pain. Whimpering, he curled up his body as he hoped the pain would vanish.

“Yamamoto!” Gokudera was beside him, rubbing his back, straightening his body. “What the hell’s going on?!”

It took all of Yamamoto’s strength to just look up at the werewolf. His whole body was shaking violently, and he could barely formulate words in his brain, let alone say them out loud.

“Gokudera…? What’s… happening to me?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Gokudera grumbled, lifting Yamamoto’s chin gently as he examined him. Nostrils flaring, the werewolf suddenly jerked back from him. His eyes widened as his body started shaking, too. “Shit, shit, oh shit. Oh gods no.”

Yamamoto had no idea what was happening. All he knew was that the dizziness still hadn’t faded and his whole body felt like it was on fire. The pain was excruciating, and Yamamoto cried out as a particularly bad spasm jerked his broken shoulder blade.

“Gokudera, what’s going on…? Am I… Am I dying?” Yamamoto forced himself to look at the werewolf, who looked like he was having trouble breathing himself. He needed to know what Gokudera knew.

The werewolf dragged himself over to Yamamoto, cuddling his head with his body. The baseball player could feel him shuddering as pain skirted up his skin. He didn’t know why Gokudera wouldn’t answer, but it terrified him. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die, knowing that he had never been anything in his life. He wanted to accomplish something before taking his last breath, something that would make his father proud of him. He wanted to protect Gokudera from the dangers and pain he suffered with.

Tears slipping down his face, Yamamoto began to lose consciousness. The last thing he heard was Gokudera muttering, to himself or to Yamamoto, the baseball player couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

\--

 

The black wolf opened his eyes, his head starting to throb at his moment of consciousness. Confusing and mingled scents tickled his nose as his sore head tried to remember where he was and what he was doing. And who he was.

He couldn’t remember a thing that had happened before he had opened his eyes just moments prior.

Lifting his head, the wolf tried to survey his surroundings as he struggled to stand on his paws (for some reason, his left front leg was giving him trouble; he could barely move it without pain racing through his body). He seemed to be in a closed space of some kind with no sky above him. As he paced around, his legs ached to run; run as fast as he could to who knows where, to feel the wind racing through his fur and the taste of fresh air on his tongue. But there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze in this space, and the wolf noticed the taste of air on his tongue was stale.

With a start he realized where he was: a _cage_.

Instantly, his heart started to pound in his ribcage as his fear and panic escalated. His fur stood on end. He felt trapped; it would be hard to defend himself in such a small area. He started to trot decisively forward, ignoring the pain in his leg, his instincts telling him to run, run, _run!_ It didn’t matter where, his legs just needed to move, to be free from this small cage.

However, a shape loomed up in front of him, and the black wolf shrunk back in fear. A silver wolf stood in front of him, its cool, emerald gaze staring the black wolf down. Almost automatically, the black wolf’s ears flattened against his head and his tail twined itself behind his leg. He didn’t know why, as he crouched to the ground in submission, but this silver wolf struck a powerful chord within him. It sent him feelings of fear, pain, confusion, but also interest.

_Can you hear me?_

The black wolf’s ears flicked up and he slowly stood from his crouch. He eyed the silver wolf warily, whose voice he somehow knew he’d just heard. The voice sent shivers down the black wolf’s spine; everything seemed so _familiar._ But no matter how hard he tried, the memories would flit into his brain for only a second before they would leave again, causing him to be even more confused than before. It was making him feel uncomfortable, and threatened. He began to growl softly, his fur standing on end.

_Oh, stop that,_ the silver wolf growled impatiently, stalking over and striking his paw against the black wolf’s muzzle, _Just talk to me, will you? Shit._

The black wolf’s head shot back, his muzzle stinging with pain, but he did as he was told and stopped growling. He glanced at the silver wolf cautiously, unsure of what he should say in fear that he would be struck again if he said something unsatisfactory.

_… Who are you?_ Was the question the black wolf finally came up with. He wanted to know; he _needed_ to know! Something in his mind told him that everything would click if he knew who the wolf before him was.

_I’m Gokudera. Don’t you remember?_ The silver wolf gazed at him calmly, his irritation seeming to have died down.

But, no, the black wolf _didn’t_ remember. The name resounded in his ears; he knew that he’d heard it before and could feel his heartbeat accelerating from it, but he couldn’t remember how or where. It was as if something was blocking him from accessing his memories, willing him to forget everything. He didn’t want to forget. He wanted to remember!

_Yamamoto?_ The silver wolf questioned.

Yamamoto. _Yamamoto!_ The word struck him so hard that he felt he was going to fall off his paws. He _knew_ that name; that name was so strongly connected to him, he could feel it! He just couldn’t remember it. But he knew it was important.

Instead of waiting for him to answer, the silver wolf approached the black one and began sniffing him. The black wolf tentatively sniffed back. The scent that hit him nearly struck him down again. Leaves in autumn danced across his tongue and he could smell the forest, smell it so strongly that it hurt. He ached with longing, but he didn’t know for what. A whine escaped from his throat, the desperation of it surprising him.

Fearfully, the black wolf backed away from the smaller wolf.

_What is this? Who are you? Who am I?_

Something of a smirk twisted the silver wolf’s muzzle and he dipped his head in understanding.

_You are a human._

Human. The word brought images to the black wolf’s brain, images passed down by wolves for generations. Humans, giant creatures that walked on two legs with their sticks. The sticks that were loud, the sticks that smelled of death and destruction, the sticks that killed a wolf before it could even flick its ears. And this silver wolf was claiming that he was one?

_I am a wolf!_ The black wolf snarled, his lips peeling back to show his teeth. The silver wolf only looked amused.

_You are confused. But everything will be made clear with time. Come._ With that, the silver wolf began to pad away. The black wolf stopped snarling, his tail drooping with exhaustion and confusion. He knew he had no choice but to follow the silver wolf. He only wished that he knew why.

The silver wolf toured him around the cage, stopping every moment or so to let the black wolf rest his leg or sniff cautiously at whatever object or place he had been brought to. Everything was achingly familiar, and he could feel the cobwebs starting to clear in his mind, but it wasn’t enough to break the dam. He could feel the answer on the tip of his tongue, but he still couldn’t remember. He was just about ready to give up when the silver wolf suddenly stopped and turned to face the black wolf.

_Do you smell that?_

The black wolf did. The scent wasn’t as strong as the silver wolf’s, but it was as powerful of a memory trigger. It smelled of wet leaves and old bark, and a picture popped into the black wolf’s mind; a picture of an animal who was very similar to the wolf, a distant cousin.

However, to the black wolf’s surprise, a name came with the scent.

_Jirou,_ the black wolf commented, tilting his head to the side in confusion. He didn’t know where the name had come from, but he knew it was right.

And suddenly, he’d broken the dam. Memories began to flood into his brain at a pace that was almost overwhelming. He remembered the dog, a sand colored Akita, as a puppy, jumping about in his cage- no, _apartment_ \- as he explored the territory around him. He remembered bending down to scratch behind the puppy’s ears, because yes, he was taller; and yes, he had fingers.

He was a human. His name was Takeshi Yamamoto, and he played baseball for the Tokyo Giants. His father was a renowned sushi chef named Tsuyoshi. He broke his shoulder blade playing baseball, which explained why he could barely walk on his front left paw. The wolf before him was also a human. He was a human named Gokudera, and the black wolf had found him passed out in an alleyway, gravely hurt. His decision to bring the man back to his apartment and care for him had changed his life forever.

_Gokudera,_ Yamamoto breathed, and his tail began to swish back and forth as he remembered. But then, puzzled, it hit him: he was a _wolf_. Just like Gokudera. How had that happened? And, as Yamamoto’s heart began to beat erratically in his chest, would that mean that the Bald Suits would be after him, too?

_Gokudera, how did this happen?_ Yamamoto whined, wondering if he sounded as scared as he felt.

_I should’ve realized it sooner,_ Gokudera growled, his tail lashing in frustration as his lips peeled up to reveal his teeth. _I bit you, remember? When you first found out what I was. That scar on your chin is proof to your new werewolf heritage._

Yamamoto’s blood ran cold, the reality of what this would mean just beginning to sink in. Not only would he be hunted down like a wanted criminal, but he would have to hide this from everyone he knew (except Gokudera, of course). He would have to hide from everyone once a month, during which he wouldn’t be able to play baseball. How would he explain that? And worst of all- his father. The proud sushi-cutter liked dropping in uninvited sometimes. What if he stopped by while Yamamoto was a wolf? What would he say? Yamamoto’s wolf body began to tremble.

_Is there a cure?_ Yamamoto knew the question was stupid before it even came out of his mouth.

_Of course there’s no cure!_ Gokudera snarled, beginning to pace around. His claws sank into the carpet every time he stopped, fur raised in aggravation. _If there was, I would’ve used it a long time ago._

Yamamoto didn’t know what to say. Everything seemed so alien now. He was usually pretty good at adapting to situations, but this was beyond him. He was an entirely different creature now- he couldn’t even be classified as human. Hoping to distract himself, and his agitated companion, Yamamoto moved on to a different question.

_How come I didn’t remember who I was?_

Gokudera stopped pacing. _When new werewolves first transform, their bodies aren’t used to the wolf yet. It disorientates them, which usually results in a loss of memory. You’re lucky. Some wolves never regain their memory, and you had me to help you out. I was alone when I lost my memory; it took me days to finally remember who I was._

Yamamoto shuttered. He couldn’t imagine wandering around blindly, with no one to help and no memory to guide. He truly was a lucky man, even if it didn’t feel that way. He just had to keep reminding himself of that; maybe that would be his ticket to finding his way in this new life that approached him. After all, he could be dead.

_This will ruin your life. You realize that, don’t you?_ Gokudera’s voice surprised Yamamoto out of his thoughts. The silver wolf was staring at him with an unreadable expression, though the black wolf could sense distress rolling off of him in waves. Yamamoto flicked an ear. He was just beginning to get used to all of the different senses that floated around him, senses that he couldn’t pick up as a human. No wonder the first transformation was so disorientating.

_I’ll be alright._ Tentatively, Yamamoto padded over to the silver wolf. He rubbed his muzzle against the other’s cheek and ran his tongue soothingly over Gokudera’s ear tips. _I have you, don’t I?_

Gokudera froze, before stepping back. Yamamoto froze as well, suddenly realizing he had overstepped a boundary. He hadn’t been thinking at all; he had completely trusted his natural instinct. As a human, all of his thoughts had completely covered over his instinct. Now, as a wolf, it had controlled him without him even realizing.

_I-I’m sorry,_ he stuttered, following the silver wolf’s lead and taking a step back. _I don’t know why I did that._

_You’re just confused from the transformation._ Gokudera sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

Yamamoto looked down at his paws, his pelt burning. What an idiot he was! What had he been thinking? Gokudera had already been uncomfortable around him, and now he had made it even worse. His friend from high school had been right- he was such a fool. He wasn’t even sure what had compelled him to touch Gokudera like that; so many emotions clustered around his brain that he didn’t know how to make heads or tails of it. His muzzle sizzled with warmth where his fur had touched Gokudera’s, and for a moment it was all he could think about it. Though he was scared of what he had done, he couldn’t deny how it had felt.

It had felt incredibly good. For once in his life, it had made him feel at home with another person. Or wolf. Yamamoto was having trouble differing the two.

_Yamamoto, however you…_ Gokudera seemed to be struggling to find words, feel _about me, you have to stop. I can’t allow you to get any closer than you already have. You’ll get hurt._

The black wolf hesitated, his ears flicking in shock. What was Gokudera trying to imply? How _did_ Yamamoto feel about the silver wolf before him? He sure as heck didn’t know, but Gokudera seemed to. If only there was a way for Yamamoto to be enlightened without sounding like a complete idiot. However, something the silver wolf had said didn’t make any sense at all…

_Than I already have?_ Yamamoto echoed, his claws sinking into the carpet as he felt frustration bubbling to the surface. _How am I close to you? I don’t feel close to you at all! All you’ve been doing since you got here was push me away, no matter how hard I tried to be nice to you and help you! And since you seem to know how everything goes in the universe, maybe you’d be so kind as to tell me how I should feel?_

_Shut up!_ The silver wolf growled, streaking forward until his bared teeth were right in Yamamoto’s face. _You have no idea what it’s like to lose everything you’ve ever cared for!_

_You’re right. I have no idea how that feels because I’ve never had anything important to care about._ The black wolf forced his fur flat as it began to rise. _But I want to know. I want to be able to share your pain with you, so you don’t have to burden everything alone. I want to know how it feels to have something to lose._

Gokudera jerked back violently, seeming suddenly unsure of himself. He backed away from Yamamoto, his body quivering. The black wolf tried to catch his eye, but Gokudera’s head was down and he refused to glance up.

_No. I will never subject anyone to that pain. Only I deserve to carry this burden!_ The silver wolf shot his head up, glaring at Yamamoto, challenging him to defy him. All in an instant, Gokudera had completely lowered his borders. Yamamoto could see that he was frightened and heartbreakingly lonely, but he refused to let anyone in in fear that he would eventually lose them, just as he had lost his pack only a month ago.

Yamamoto’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to take that lying down! Before he really thought about what he was doing, Yamamoto had closed the gap between them. He pressed his muzzle gently against the other’s, rubbing it gently.

_Stop saying that! You don’t deserve this, either! There was nothing you could have done differently to save your pack! Your life doesn’t have to be a punishment! You should be happy you survived…_ Yamamoto’s voice dropped down into a whisper as he maneuvered himself around so that he could brush his body against Gokudera’s.

For a moment, it seemed that the silver wolf wouldn’t pull away. But he did, aggressively shoving Yamamoto away. As he backed away, his hackles raised and his fur bristled in fear.

_No! I won’t allow you to become closer to me!_ The silver wolf was shaking again. _I can’t lose you, too!_

Yamamoto slowly padded towards the agitated silver wolf. He could feel his body shaking too as he felt a fear of his own; he was scared that Gokudera would reject him. He was scared that Gokudera would be too frightened to let the black wolf help him and show him that he didn’t have to live alone for the rest of his life. Yamamoto’s heart suddenly and strongly ached with despair; he had come to look forward to and enjoy Gokudera’s presence in his otherwise lonely apartment. He didn’t know what he would do if the silver wolf ever decided to leave.

_If you didn’t want to become close to me, you would have left a long time ago. Why did you stick around?_ He must have asked this question about three times by now, but he longed for an answer with all of his being. His voice rose to a thin wail. _If this isn’t what you wanted, why didn’t you leave?!_

Gokudera flinched, his tail lashing in agitation, but he didn’t move away as the black wolf came to stand beside him once more. He didn’t even move as Yamamoto rubbed his cheek against his. He just sighed, long and hard, the breath tickling the black wolf’s ear fur. Yamamoto even thought he felt the silver wolf’s cheek press back gently against his muzzle, but it could have easily been his imagination.

_You… have never treated me like a monster. Even when I bit your head off, figuratively and literally, you were always by my side again, trying to figure me out. Don’t think I didn’t know what you were up to!_ Gokudera lashed out at Yamamoto’s apparently obvious surprise, then snorted in amusement. _You interrogated me more than the police. I… appreciated it._

Gokudera turned his head to look Yamamoto in the eyes, for the first time in a long time. The black wolf found himself getting lost in his emerald green gaze, and almost missed what Gokudera said next.

_Even though I’m terrified of what will happen if I let myself get too close, I didn’t leave because I knew I would never find anyone else like you._

Yamamoto’s heart nearly stopped. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. His paws were as heavy as stone, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. What was Gokudera implying? Was Yamamoto’s most secret hope, one that he had buried so deep inside of himself that even his consciousness didn’t know it, about to come true?

_Gokudera, are you-?_

_I love you, Yamamoto,_ Gokudera interrupted, giving the black wolf a hard look before affectionately butting his head into Yamamoto’s shoulder. _Whether I want to or not._

As the reality of what the silver wolf had just told him sunk in, Yamamoto felt his heart swelling with joy; a level of joy he had never experienced in his whole life. _Finally_ there was someone out there who he was important to; someone who was important to him. Finally he could have someone to love, to look out for, to come home to, to share every moment of his life with. Until that moment, Yamamoto hadn’t even known that what he felt towards the other werewolf was love, but now he was sure of it. He had never felt this way towards any other person before, not even to his father. For the first time, he felt needed. Weeks of conflict and depression seemed to lift off of his shoulders as he buried his muzzle into Gokudera’s neck fur.

_Gokudera… I don’t think you know how happy you just made me!_ He felt like a new man! Or wolf. Yamamoto wondered if it mattered anymore.

_Yamamoto, if you’re half as happy as me, then I know._ The silver wolf drew back slightly, nipping Yamamoto’s ears playfully. The black wolf sent the other a playful grin as he weaved himself around his new lover, his tail swishing back and forth in absolute bliss.

The silver wolf playfully leaped onto Yamamoto, and with a surprised yelp, they went down in a tangle of tails and fur. Rolling around and playfully nipping, it took a while before the black wolf was able to pin his partner down. He leaned down to lick Gokudera’s muzzle, an affectionate growl leaving his throat, before rolling off of him and instead snuggling into his side. Gokudera flipped onto his stomach and pressed closer to the black wolf as Yamamoto nuzzled his muzzle into the top of the silver wolf’s head.

He couldn’t remember feeling so content in his life. Maybe his werewolf life wouldn’t be such a bad one after all, if Gokudera was there to stay.

As Yamamoto’s eyelids started to grow heavy, he heard Gokudera fully open himself up to him one more time.

_Promise you won’t leave me._

Yamamoto whined affectionately as he licked Gokudera’s ear tips with long, soothing strokes.

_I promise._


	7. The Dream

Yamamoto’s body felt weird. On his moment of consciousness, he had felt a strange discomfort that he couldn’t quite put his finger on; it was almost like he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin.

It was then that he realized that Gokudera was lying next to him on the floor. Naked. As a heavy blush dusted his cheeks, and he averted his gaze shyly, the baseball player realized that he, too, was naked. Blanching, he tried to remember how both of them had come to be in their birthday suits on the floor.

Then it came flooding back at a speed that made his head spin.

He was a werewolf. Gokudera was a werewolf. They had both transformed the night before, obviously as the result of the full moon that was no doubt hanging high in the sky. The transformation explained why both werewolves were now naked on the floor: their wolf forms had stepped out of their human clothes, being much smaller and wrongly proportioned for the cloth, resulting in them being buck naked when they returned to their original form.

A heavy weight settled onto his shoulders. Remembering the transformation had reminded him of all of the issues that he now faced. He was being hunted; he now had the world’s worst, and hardest to keep, secret; and he had been dragged into this world with no possibility of return. The future seemed nothing but dark.

However, he then remembered that Gokudera had told him that he loved him.

Yamamoto looked down at the sleeping form of his lover, affection shining in his eyes. That’s right— not all hope was lost. He had someone in his life now, someone who was very dear to him and completely understood his situation. He had someone who he didn’t have to lie to about his werewolf self and could share literally everything with. Warmth blossomed in his chest.

How had he lived his life until now without love?

As if his thoughts had awoken him, Gokudera’s eyes were suddenly open. Yamamoto watched him with glee, trying to hide his smile as the other werewolf’s mind slowly processed what was happening. His facial expressions were changing at an impressive speed: from confusion at where he was, to embarrassment and uncertainty as he remembered the night before, and, lastly, to a dark flush as he realized that he and his lover were lying together naked.

The baseball player wondered when he’d learned to read Gokudera so well.

“What the hell—?!”

Yamamoto didn’t give him a chance to finish as he leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his lips. It had the desired effect; Gokudera shut up immediately. Smiling, the baseball player wrapped his good arm around his werewolf, pulling the other up awkwardly into a sitting position (he still hadn’t quite gotten used to only being able to use one arm). That had been his first kiss as a human, and nothing had ever felt better.

“Good morning,” Yamamoto murmured as he pressed his forehead against Gokudera’s. Knowing that he was allowed to touch the other was exploding all sorts of affectionate desires in the baseball player’s consciousness.

“Let go of me, idiot. It’s too hot for this.” Unable to rid himself of the heavy blush that rested stubbornly on his cheeks, the glare Gokudera attempted to send Yamamoto only made him laugh. Now that the he knew that the anger was all for show, Yamamoto couldn’t even start to get down about his lover’s grouchy attitude.

“Sure, sure. You’re just too embarrassed to admit that you like it!” Yamamoto teased, giving his lover a soft kiss underneath his chin before releasing him.

To tell the absolute truth, the baseball player felt a new awkwardness towards his roommate that he wasn’t quite sure how to address. Yeah, he knew he loved Gokudera, and that Gokudera loved him back, but he’d never been in love before. Was it okay if he held him for a long period of time? Or would the werewolf get mad and storm off? Had Gokudera’s cold attitude towards the baseball player really changed? And if it hadn’t, how was he supposed to incorporate that into their new relationship? How much space did Gokudera need? What was allowed?

In short, he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do.

“Shut it.” As Yamamoto was momentarily distracted by his thoughts, Gokudera had retrieved his clothes from the floor and was in the process of putting them on. Watching distractedly as the werewolf finished putting on pants and was tiredly pulling his shirt over his head, the baseball player couldn’t help but admire his partner’s body. Though he was a skinny man (to the point that his ribs stuck out), he had a beautiful build. He had nice muscles in his arms and shoulders (though not as much as Yamamoto, of course) but they were small enough that it didn’t look silly with his small waist.

“You’re beautiful, Gokudera,” he sighed distractedly, leaning back on his good arm as he appreciated the view.

Gokudera scowled over his shoulder as he finished dressing himself. He then marched over to where Yamamoto sat (still naked) and stuck his face aggressively into the baseball player’s. “You’re a pervert.”

Yamamoto laughed and reached up to push a stray lock of Gokudera’s hair out of his face. However, forgetting that he had been resting all of his weight on that arm, he let out a yelp as he fell over backwards. He heard his partner snort in amusement as the baseball player struggled to sit up again, suddenly feeling very strongly for turtles.

“You’re also an idiot.” Gokudera’s voice slowly faded as he walked away from his struggling boyfriend and into the kitchen.

Yamamoto sighed in relief as he finally made it to a sitting position, only to stare dejectedly at his clothes. How was he supposed to dress himself with his injured arm? For the last month he’d been shamelessly wearing the same clothes so that he wouldn’t have to worry about getting undressed and dressed again. He probably stank, but at least not as badly since he was on hiatus from baseball. And besides, who was around to smell him? Just Gokudera, and the werewolf often smelled worse than he did so therefore couldn’t complain.

“Gokudera?” Yamamoto called to the sounds of bacon sizzling in a pan. With a randomness characteristic of the baseball player’s brain, he realized that he had no idea what Gokudera’s first name was. He wondered if it was safe to ask. “I kind of need a little help over here!”

All he heard was swearing from the kitchen. For a depressing moment, Yamamoto thought Gokudera would refuse to help him. But, eventually, his head poked around the wall to see what Yamamoto needed help with. The baseball player pouted as he pointed at his clothes with his good arm. Gokudera sighed in annoyance, but withdrew from the kitchen and marched over to where Yamamoto sat on the floor.

“This is ridiculous. Is this why you’ve been wearing the same fucking clothes for the last month? And why you stink worse than the garbage?” Despite Gokudera’s dark mutterings, he was obediently picking up Yamamoto’s discarded clothing and bringing them back over to the injured baseball player.

“Haha, well, I couldn’t think of any other option!” Yamamoto laughed happily as he watched his lover in amusement. Gokudera truly was adorable!

“Of course you couldn’t! You’re an idiot.” After retrieving all of the clothes, Gokudera grimaced in disgust as he kneeled beside his lover. Gingerly, with just his thumb and forefinger, he picked up Yamamoto’s boxers as if they were a rotten banana. “This is so fucking disgusting.”

The werewolf’s facial expression made Yamamoto completely lose his composure. He curled up as he laughed his guts out, tears streaming from his eyes from the force (though half of the tears were from the pain his arm was giving him; something told him he forget to take his pain medication). To think that the fearsome werewolf could go through hell and back and then be weakened by a piece of underwear… It was just too funny!

“C-come on, Gokudera! It’s just my boxers!” Yamamoto had barely recovered himself to talk before he broke out in another fit of laughter.

Gokudera let out a strangled snarl before he, obviously unwillingly, took the boxers in both hands and began violently pushing them up Yamamoto’s legs. He paused near the baseball player’s waist, before speaking in a thick voice, “Raise your hips. Otherwise we’ll never get this damn thing over with.”

Yamamoto heard his lover, but the words flew over his head. His laughter was gone. In its place was an uneasy pleasure; he couldn’t help but be entirely focused on the fact that Gokudera was leaning over his naked form, his hands tantalizingly close to a certain part of his body. He bit his lip, trying to hide his awakening interest; he wasn’t sure how the werewolf would react. Would he be disgusted? They were definitely too new to love for any kind of sexual activity, at least on Yamamoto’s part, and yet he couldn’t help but feel utterly turned on.

It took him a millennia to realize that Gokudera was staring at him. Yamamoto met his gaze before a dark blush flushed his cheeks and he had to look away. He couldn’t look him in the eye with the knowledge of what his lower half was up to! His newbie awkwardness and embarrassment only deepened as he saw Gokudera out of the corner of his eye looking down near where his hands were. Before things could get worse, Yamamoto decided he better try to explain his uncomfortable position.

“Ah…. Gokudera, this isn’t what it looks like—”

“Are you getting _aroused?!_ I’m putting your fucking boxers _on,_ not off!!” Gokudera let go of the boxers and sat back, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he glared at Yamamoto.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m not trying to! You’re just so close, and—!”

“No! I don’t want to hear anymore! Damn pervert!”

As the werewolf stood up abruptly and made a hasty retreat back to the kitchen, Yamamoto had an epiphany: Gokudera was just as awkward and new to their relationship as he was. He wasn’t alone in being unsure of what he should do. He also realized that that was okay; they could only ever know what to do if they experimented.

With that thought in mind, Yamamoto let Gokudera stalk out before he called out hesitantly, only half thinking his new plan through. “Um, Gokudera? I can’t take care of this by myself…”

There was an incredibly painful silence that seemed to last an eternity before Gokudera returned to the living room and kneeled in front of Yamamoto. The baseball player shyly met the werewolf’s gaze. He noticed annoyance on his lover’s face, but was relieved to see no trace of disgust. Maybe this kind of thing was okay? Was this the kind of playful banter that lovers were expected to do? Well, maybe playful wasn’t the right word… Should he say something in this kind of situation?

“I love you,” Yamamoto decided to say, cringing as his voice briefly tried to become a soprano.

“Fuck you,” Gokudera muttered in response before he fulfilled Yamamoto’s request.

 

\--

 

It took another full month before Yamamoto’s shoulder blade healed enough for him to return to baseball.

In that time, he had spent every waking moment (and recently every sleeping moment too) with Gokudera. The new lovers had found themselves thrown together with way too much time on their hands, and so spent it experimenting with each other. It wasn’t all sexual; in fact, most of it wasn’t. Yamamoto was still too injured for any kind of extreme activity (and secretly too awkward as well) and Gokudera still didn’t like to admit that he enjoyed sleeping in the baseball player’s bed. So instead they spent their time finding everything about each other that they could. Yamamoto had discovered his lover’s first name, and had more and more frequently used “Hayato” when he called to him. Gokudera had memorized the schedule of Yamamoto’s favorite shows on television and always claimed to be watching them on accident when they were on.

When they did engage in something sexual, it was when it was so dark that Yamamoto could barely make out Gokudera’s outline. If eye contact was made in the middle of it, they would both awkwardly turn their gazes away. It was still too soon for either one to be entirely comfortable in what they were doing (it was a week before Gokudera could look Yamamoto in the eye after the incident while trying to dress him).

One thing that they had both grown fond of doing (in broad daylight, too!) was take a bath together. Eventually, according to Gokudera anyway, Yamamoto’s body odor had gotten so bad that the werewolf could hardly stand to be in the same apartment as his lover. Since the baseball player couldn’t even undress by himself, Gokudera had begrudgingly begun their now twice a week routine. He would start the hot water pounding into the bath before peeling off Yamamoto’s clothes (sticky from sweat because of the August heat or from some other, more embarrassing substance). Then he would struggle to get the 190 pound baseball player over the rim of the bath, who only managed to help by providing his lover with some leverage and trying not to be dead weight. With the black-haired werewolf safely in the lovingly hot tub, Gokudera would then remove his own clothes and hop in with him. He would then proceed to clean both of them while Yamamoto relaxed and softly caressed Gokudera’s skin wherever he could reach it with his good arm (in doing so he had delightfully found where his lover was ticklish, which was information perfect for blackmailing).

Other than Gokudera and Jirou, Yamamoto had seen no one. Takeuchi had never returned, having discovered the delight and convenience of talking on the phone. None of his other teammates had gone farther than get-well cards which had strangely all been sent to his doctor instead of to his apartment. The only other person who Yamamoto would’ve seen was his father, who had no reason to visit because he still didn’t know that his son was recovering from an injury. Yamamoto had hesitated to call him in fear that he would storm over and demand to take care of him, only to discover a strange, scrawny man living in his apartment.

Though Yamamoto loved his werewolf, he couldn’t deny the ache of longing to be back at work and interacting with his teammates. He also missed his father dreadfully, and promised himself he’d call as soon as his shoulder healed.

And, finally, it had healed.

Takeuchi had swung by for one last appointment, in which the doctor announced cheerfully that Yamamoto could return to baseball and would no longer need his sling or pain medication. The baseball player could only wonder if his beaming smile had really blinded the doctor, as Takeuchi claimed, or if the old man had just gotten a piece of dust in his eye.

Well, whatever; all that mattered was that Yamamoto was cured!

“You don’t understand how happy I am to be going back to work!” Yamamoto told Takeuchi in the car back to his apartment, flexing his healed arm in delight. It was almost unbelievable that it worked.

“You’re lucky; not many people can say that!” Takeuchi laughed as he pulled up to Yamamoto’s apartment complex. As Yamamoto stepped out and walked to the curb, his captain stuck his head through the open window. “But seriously, man. We’re glad you’re back! Any longer and we would crash and burn in the playoffs!”

Yamamoto smiled and waved, but Takeuchi hadn’t finished yet. “Also! I’m really glad you’re happier, Moto.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me! Anyone could tell by looking at you that the world’s off your back. I swear your skin looks much nicer than it ever did before!” Takeuchi only cackled at Yamamoto’s baffled expression. “Anyway, I’m glad; especially since you seemed so down earlier.”

“Thanks for looking after me, Take,” Yamamoto finally said, unsure of how to reply. How could he ever explain why he was so happy? Well, maybe the recovery was enough of a reason.

“No problem, man!” Takeuchi waved and winked as he pulled his head back inside the car. “See you at practice tomorrow!”

Yamamoto’s heart skipped a beat at the words; it seemed like ages since he’d heard them. Practice…. He’d be going back to practice.

Takeshi Yamamoto would be playing baseball again!

 

\--

 

The next day, Yamamoto hummed excitedly to himself as he felt around on the floor for his scattered clothes, not wanting to wake his grumpy lover by turning on the lights. It was only seven in the morning, which was normal for the baseball loving werewolf, but he knew that the other werewolf didn’t like to be conscious until around eleven or noon. However, he was so excited by last night (he had lost his innocence at last!) and by the fact that he would be playing baseball again for the first time in two months that he couldn’t keep his humming low enough to go by undetected.

“Well. Someone’s fucking happy.”

The covers shifted loudly and Yamamoto looked up in the middle of pulling on his sweats to see Gokudera’s head peeking over the side of the bed. His eyes were slits, still groggy and half-asleep. The baseball player smiled widely and stretched his neck out to place a small peck on the werewolf’s lips.

“Of course I’m happy! How could I not be? I spent last night and am spending today doing my two favorite things!” Yamamoto rubbed his nose against Gokudera’s before smiling apologetically. “Sorry to wake you up; I didn’t mean to.”

Gokudera groaned, whether from the cheesy lines or from the fact that he was still awake Yamamoto was unsure, before rolling back under the cover cocoon he’d made for himself. The sound of soft snoring coming from the bed confirmed to the baseball player that he wouldn’t get a response.

Smiling to himself, Yamamoto finished dressing and quietly snuck out of the room.

 

\--

 

After making sure there was plenty of food and water for Jirou, Yamamoto was well on his way to baseball practice. He had decided to jog to the field, painfully aware of how out of shape he was going to be. He had barely been able to move in his time of convalescence, let alone work up a good sweat.

It saddened him to accept that he would be unable to keep up with the practices, but he knew that that was what he got for getting injured.

By the time he got to the field, he was already out of breath. What had once been an easy run had now become a painful labor. His lungs were gasping for oxygen and his legs felt like cooked spaghetti noodles. Blood was pounding in his ears and he had to stop to drink from his water bottle before he could even feel the fresh grass underneath his feet.

This was just pathetic. He’d have to do extra training to get back on par with the rest of the team.

“Moto!” Takeuchi’s arm was suddenly around his neck, causing Yamamoto to almost choke and die on his water. As soon as he recovered, his captain’s knuckles were digging into his scalp for a playful noogie. “Down for the count already? We haven’t even started practice yet!”

Yamamoto laughed, leaning forward slightly from the force of the attack. “I know, I know! I’m out of shape; hopefully Coach will go easy on me.”

“He won’t if he catches you saying that!” Takeuchi laughed as he released his teammate. “You’re our ace, Moto; you’re not allowed to be out of shape!”

“Haha, whatever you say!” Yamamoto laughed right back as he let Takeuchi lead him towards practice.

It felt so nice to be back on the field that Yamamoto didn’t even notice the shiver that crawled up his skin.


	8. The Mistake

Playing baseball again was the best feeling in the world for Yamamoto. It was hard work, since he was so out of shape from his months of convalescence, but the burn of his muscles was so worth it he didn’t even mind. A lot of his old habits were still in place, which he was glad for, though he had none of the strength he usually did. However, he knew it would all come back with hard exercise and patience, traits Yamamoto excelled at.

He just wished he wasn’t so tired.

His stamina was gone, of course; that made sense. What didn’t make sense was that he felt like he was going to fall asleep on his feet. That was a new feeling for him – no matter what kind of exercise it was, it had always left Yamamoto wide awake. It was why he ran in the morning and not in the evening.

However, the exhaustion he felt now was dense. Why was he so tired? He’d gotten plenty of sleep the night before. Could his body just be tired from his excursions with Gokudera? Did sex really use up that much energy?

Yamamoto was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t noticed Takeuchi jog up beside him.

“How you doing, Moto? Hanging in there?” A hand pounded on Yamamoto’s back.

Startled, the baseball player nearly fell over. He was so tired that he almost didn’t have the energy to regain his balance and swayed unsteadily as he struggled to keep up with Takeuchi’s effortless pace.

“Uh, I guess so?” Yamamoto gave a shaky laugh. “I’m glad to be playing again, but I’m just so tired! It’s crazy!”

Takeuchi glanced at him in concern. “Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard on your first day back. Don’t want to pull anything, you know.”

“I know, but I’m being careful! I don’t think I’m pushing myself at all!” As if to contradict his last sentence, Yamamoto’s breathing suddenly turned irregular and he had to stop his pathetically slow jog. He leaned on his knees, huffing and puffing as he tried to slow his heartbeat.

This was _so_ weird… He hadn’t been this out of breath before.

“Moto!” Takeuchi stopped by his teammate and placed a hand gently on his back. “I’m not listening to you anymore – go take a break. I’m sure coach will understand. And if he doesn’t, I’ll back you up.

“But—”

“Moto.” Yamamoto’s captain gave him a stern look as his voice turned serious, and the exhausted baseball player knew he had no choice but to give in. Takeuchi could be extremely stubborn when he wanted to be.

Feet dragging in disappointment, Yamamoto slowly made his way to the dugout. As he sat down, he didn’t really feel relief; instead, he started to break into a hard sweat. When he looked up to see if the sun was high in the sky (as it felt), Yamamoto’s vision swayed and he had to hold his head steady for a moment before it focused again. Fear settled into the baseball player’s chest.

What was wrong with him?

After sitting for what it seemed like hours, drinking an obsessive amount of water, Yamamoto didn’t feel any better. His vision still swam if he moved his head too fast, and he was developing a pounding headache. He couldn’t stop sweating, but despite that, he was shivering violently. He was getting really scared – how was he injured this time? Would he really never get to play baseball again?

At some point (Yamamoto was really starting to have trouble keeping track of time now), Takeuchi came over to check on him.

“Dude you really don’t look well. Are you sure you’re alright?” Takeuchi was looking at him with real concern on his face. “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

Yamamoto was shivering so badly he couldn’t even answer, not that he really wanted to. He didn’t want to find out he had some fatal disease that would kill him in the hour, or something. Because at this point, everything was just getting worse. It seriously felt like he was going to jump out of his skin.

It was then, with that thought, that Yamamoto had an epiphany; he knew exactly what was going on. After all, he’d experienced it once before.

He was about to transform.

As he felt his skin crawl violently, Yamamoto used all of his strength to stand up from the bench and run off towards the stadium. He had to get somewhere with shelter; he couldn’t let Takeuchi, or anyone else on the team, see him. He was such an idiot – he should’ve known that it was that time of the month again. Gokudera always kept a strict schedule on when it was time (especially now that Yamamoto had jumped on the werewolf band wagon), but Yamamoto had been so excited about baseball that he’d completely forgotten.

Now he feared for his life as he heard Takeuchi run after him.

“Moto, what the hell?! Where are you going?!”

“D-don’t follow me!” What would Takeuchi do when he found out what Yamamoto had become? Would he call the men who were out to kill Gokudera? Yamamoto grit his teeth as he turned a corner and stood in the darkness of a stadium hallway. As he felt his body shift and reform, he knew he had to survive. If he didn’t, Gokudera would be alone again.

He could never forgive himself if he allowed that to happen.

As Yamamoto began to lose consciousness, he had one final thought: he would live for his lover.

 

\--

 

Gokudera paced the entire apartment, worry and anger bubbling in his chest. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice Jirou following him around, causing him to trip over the dog every time he turned around to begin his pacing again.

God he fell in love with a real idiot.

He couldn’t count how many times he’d warned Yamamoto about this. On the days that they were in the mood for a serious conversation, the silver-haired werewolf would go over every little detail he could think of about the new life that his lover faced. The most important was, of course, how to keep track of the transformation cycle. Yamamoto would have to face that once a month he wouldn’t be able to go out and function as a normal person.

And, of course, that was the first thing his idiot of a boyfriend forgot.

That was why he was angry. Sure, it was partially why he was worried too, but he was more concerned about what he was supposed to do now. Yamamoto would be out there all alone, and the werewolf hunters would be out there too. Gokudera would never forgive himself if his lover got killed because he was sitting around in the apartment. And not only that, but the silver-haired werewolf had already lost everything.

He couldn’t lose Yamamoto too.

Gokudera halted as he felt his skin start to crawl. Jirou stopped, too, whining up at his new human friend. The werewolf looked down at the adorable puppy before he kneeled down and took the loose fur around Jirou’s neck in his hands. He kissed the puppy on his nose and focused on the Akita nuzzling him as he began to shiver.

“What should I do, Jirou?” Gokudera looked deep into the dog’s eyes.

Jirou just whined and licked his nose.

Sighing, Gokudera sat back on his knees and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t left his new home since Yamamoto had found him in that alleyway what seemed like years ago. He’d been too scared to leave; he was still scared. It was too dangerous. The werewolf hunters had let him escape once; they wouldn’t do it again. He didn’t want to risk it. But Yamamoto had been so unbearably nice to him. He’d taken care of him, personally nurturing a complete stranger with a threatening secret to health. He’d had no obligation to, he just had. And now they were so close that Gokudera wasn’t sure he’d be able to live without the other. He loved him too much to just throw him away.

It all came down to one question: did Gokudera value his life or Yamamoto more?

The werewolf’s skin crawled again, more violently this time, and he knew he had to make a decision soon. He couldn’t open the door in his wolf form, so if he wanted to leave, he had to choose now.

Gokudera stared at the door, fear prickling in his shifting skin. He knew what he had to do; all along, there had been no other option.

Struggling to stand in his weakened state, the werewolf slowly made his way to the door and opened it, letting the bright light from the outside world blind him for a moment. It’d really been too long since he’d gone outside; he’d forgotten what it felt like to have the sun’s heat bathe his face. Once he’d adjusted, he took a step out and felt his body begin the transformation.

He had barely gotten the door closed behind him before he was a wolf and sprinting down the city streets.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto opened his eyes to find that the world had grown taller. Everything that he remembered from his human perspective now seemed oddly disproportioned. Scents and sounds he’d never been able to pick up before pounded his senses. It was making him dizzy, and he shook his head a few times to adjust.

He was just able to find the strength to stand on his paws before he realized that there was a human in front of him.

Flinching in surprise, Yamamoto’s wolf body seemed to drop instinctively into an arched crouch with his head close to the ground and his hindquarters up in the air. His lips peeled back to reveal his teeth without him even consciously thinking about it. The complete lack of control over his body worried Yamamoto, but then he suddenly remembered Gokudera’s occasional wolf lessons. The wolf’s natural instincts would take over at first, but the black werewolf would be able to control himself after that.

Comforted by the thought of his lover, Yamamoto already felt himself regain control of his movements and he relaxed his defensive stance as he looked up to identify the human.

What he saw, however, terrified him.

It was Takeuchi. His team captain was looking down at Yamamoto’s wolf body in complete horror; he seemed to be frozen stiff from shock. The black wolf squirmed uncomfortably and he tried to dig his short claws into the cement beneath him in an effort to halt his instinct to run away. He didn’t want Takeuchi to know; he didn’t want him to ruin all of Gokudera’s months of hiding.

He didn’t want him to think he was a monster.

“Moto… What…? Is that…?”

Yamamoto never wished he could talk more than he did in that moment (well, to be fair, he didn’t usually have that problem). He wanted to defend himself, or at least offer an explanation. Takeuchi _had_ to understand…. The black werewolf didn’t want to lose one of the few friends he had!

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing until he changed back, that is. If he even had that long.

Without looking back, Yamamoto sprinted away from Takeuchi. He pushed his legs as hard as he could, thankful that wolves were speedy, as he tried to get out of the stadium. He could hear Takeuchi calling after him, but he couldn’t tell if his captain was following or not. He didn’t stop to check.

When the black werewolf made it out of the stadium, he almost couldn’t go any further. Loud noises and strong scents flooded his senses, leaving him baffled and confused. He could hear every car, ever motorcycle, could smell every sewer, every food shop. He felt panic rising in his chest as he glanced around frantically, trying to remember which was the right way to his house. Had the city always been this confusing? He tried to look for familiar landmarks but found that everything looked different at his new height. How had Gokudera kept his orientation like this?

Or, more importantly: how would he ever find his way home?

Suddenly the ground was shaking, and the loud stomps of running sounded from behind Yamamoto; he knew he had to move. Trusting his gut, just as he always did in times of crisis, the werewolf ran straight ahead and hoped that no one saw or caught him.

As he ran down the streets, he became even more disoriented and overwhelmed than when he’d just been standing still. Now all of the sounds and smells were coming at him at a speed he couldn’t even hope to comprehend.

Just where in the world was he?!

Yamamoto was running himself into a frenzy, literally and figuratively. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing, and with each passing moment it seemed even more hopeless. His shoulder was starting to burn, and he could barely keep up the pace he was running at, but he was so distraught that he couldn’t stop.

He eventually did stop, however, when he ran straight into someone’s leg. Somehow he hadn’t noticed there was a human in front of him, and the resulting collision left him collapsed and dazed on the street. He shook his head to clear it, only then daring to look up at who he’d run into.

His blood ran cold. In front of him stood none other than the Bald Suits: the werewolf hunters. As he lay there, frozen in shock, one of them looked down at a photo he held in his hand.

“Hey, this isn’t the one we’re after! I thought the boss said this was the last one!”

The other shook his head and reached for something in the folds of his suit. “He was, but it doesn’t matter. We’re to exterminate _all_ the werewolves; it doesn’t matter which one!”

Yamamoto got up and ran. He had to ignore the burn in his shoulder, the exhaustion of his limbs. If he didn’t, he’d be dead, and would never be able to see or do anything again. He would leave Gokudera all alone, which he’d promised he’d never do. He wasn’t a man to break promises, and he sure wouldn’t now.

But what was he supposed to do? His lover hadn’t gone over what to do if he ran into the hunters. Maybe they’d both hoped in blissful oblivion that it would never happen. But now it had, and the black werewolf had no other option but to run back the way he’d come. Maybe he’d run into Takeuchi, and the baseball player would have enough room in his heart to save Yamamoto.

However, Yamamoto must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, because he found himself facing a brick wall.

Doom settled in his heart as he looked frantically for a way past the wall. There _had_ to be a way… He couldn’t die here! He refused to!

But he was trapped. Only a bird could get over this wall.

Whimpering desperately, Yamamoto turned around to face his fate. He hoped he’d be able to somehow run past the Bald Suits, but he discovered that they’d trapped him in much closer than he’d thought. The black werewolf, seeing no other option, cowered against the wall as the men approached, laughing maniacally.

“You can’t escape us now, beast!”

 

\--

 

Ignoring the people screaming, Gokudera ran frantically through the streets, all of his attention focused on the faint scent of his lover. Usually he was very careful, but this time he didn’t even care as he ran through packed streets and past crowds of startled people; all that mattered was that he reached Yamamoto in time. It took all of his senses strained to their max to even pick up traces of the black werewolf, what with all of the other confusing distractions of the city, so that he didn’t have time or energy to focus on anything else.

He followed all the way to the baseball stadium before he lost the scent. Trying to ignore the panic rising in his chest, Gokudera paced, nose to the ground, sniffing at everything he possibly could. He knew Yamamoto had been here; he’d even stood here for a period of time. However, it was what came after that was confusing: the other werewolf obviously wasn’t there anymore, but there were so many scent trails leaving from this one spot that Gokudera couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Gokudera was so engrossed in his frantic search that he nearly let a human sneak up on him. However, the human speaking caught the werewolf’s attention and he whirled around to face his opponent. Hackles raised and lips back to reveal snarling teeth, Gokudera sized up his enemy. He didn’t seem to be a werewolf hunter, but one could never be sure…

That is, until the werewolf actually processed what the human was saying.

“What?! There’s another one?! Is everyone a wolf?!”

That made Gokudera pause. What was the human talking about?! “Another one”? Gokudera was nearly the last of his kind, so there was no way this human had seen another one, unless…

He had it. Straining his senses past where the human was standing, Gokudera could pick up the trail of his lover. It was fresh, too. How had he missed it before?

Without dwelling on any other thoughts, and completely ignoring the human, the silver werewolf sprinted after Yamamoto’s trail. Pushing his legs as far as he could go, Gokudera only had one thought.

He hoped he wasn’t too late.

 

\--

 

Yamamoto smelled the gun before he actually saw it. It smelled oily and mechanical, a scent that burned uncomfortably in his nose. He had to resist the urge to sneeze. Any sudden movement could lead him to death faster.

As he scrambled back on the wall, trying to get as far away as possible, the black werewolf thought about all the things he regretted. He regretted getting injured; he regretted being unable to play baseball one last time; he regretted not calling his father in all the time that he’d been injured; he regretted not telling Gokudera he loved him before he left.

One of the Bald Suits cocked the gun at him. As Yamamoto stared death in the face, he realized that his paralyzing fear had been replaced with a cool sadness. He was sad that his life had never added up to much, that he could never protect those that mattered to him.

Closing his eyes, he awaited his fate.

He heard the gun go off, but felt nothing. At first, Yamamoto wondered if the Bald Suit had miraculously missed from such a close distance. That was before, however, the sharp tang of blood scented strongly in his nostrils. Dread building in his chest, the black werewolf opened his eyes in hope that his suspicions were wrong.

They weren’t. He’d known all along; he would recognize that scent underneath the blood anywhere.

An achingly familiar silver figure stood directly in front of Yamamoto, his body nearly pressed against the black werewolf. Yamamoto felt something dripping on his paws, and he knew that it was the blood he smelled. He was so stunned that he could barely process what had just happened, even though the evidence stood just before him.

Gokudera had taken the shot. He’d come out of nowhere and stood in front of Yamamoto, right as the bullet had blazed by. And now, it was lodged in his chest area and blood was flowing from his collapsing form at an alarming rate.

_Gokudera!_

Yamamoto broke out of whatever trance had been holding him and lurched forward to support his sagging lover. He laid him gently on the ground, licking his ears frantically in worry. He didn’t know what to do; this was much more serious than anything he’d ever faced before. Gokudera wasn’t dead yet, but he wasn’t conscious, and Yamamoto was terrified that the only person in the world he would ever love would be gone soon.

And it was all _their_ fault!

Yamamoto wasn’t a violent person; he didn’t enjoy hurting people. However, seeing his lover’s bloodied form lying motionless on the ground, the black werewolf felt a blood lust that he’d never felt in his entire life.

He wanted to _kill_ these men.

A growl of anger and pain erupted from the black wolf’s throat and he whirled around to face the werewolf hunters. In the blink of an eye, Yamamoto leaped at the man holding the gun. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, overriding the exhaustion and pain of his shoulder, and he seemed to move faster than he ever had before as he snapped his jaws at whatever he could reach. He didn’t even care about his own life anymore; all he cared about was making these men pay for what they had done.

He could _never_ forgive them.

However, despite his best efforts, Yamamoto felt himself tiring. His injury was freshly recovered, and even adrenaline wasn’t strong enough to keep the pain at bay. He had torn flesh wounds on both men, but it wasn’t enough to bring either of them down. At this rate, they would get Yamamoto too.

At least they weren’t paying attention to Gokudera anymore. Even as the other Bald Suit pulled out a gun of his own, he was solely pointing it at the black werewolf. Yamamoto panted heavily as he braced himself to jump in and fight again. Maybe if they assumed the silver werewolf was dead they wouldn’t stop to make sure and maybe Gokudera could miraculously recover from his wound.

Yamamoto just had to keep them distracted.

He darted between the two men, hoping it would prevent them from shooting the guns in fear of hitting one another. He kept his ground, swiveling his head left and right to take turns biting each man. The plan was working, but he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up…

It was then that Yamamoto’s leg collapsed. His shoulder was screaming in pain; he couldn’t even move it anymore. He toppled sideways, his brain shutting down in fear as he saw the men grin maliciously.

They knew they had won.

Suddenly a shape exploded from the entrance to the alleyway, knocking one man completely over. As the other hunter looked in shock at where his friend had been standing, Yamamoto lifted his head to glance at his savior.

What he saw didn’t even seem possible. A _wolf_ , a brown one, was pinning the fallen Bald Suit to the ground, teeth bared in the man’s face. The man screamed in fright before he was silenced by the new wolf, who sunk its teeth deep into the man’s neck with no hesitation. Though Yamamoto hated these men, he couldn’t help but be horrified as he watched the man’s life seep away. The way that the body went still as the blood slowly pooled out of the neck wound terrified Yamamoto. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone truly deserved to die that way.

“You!” The remaining Bald Suit’s scream snapped Yamamoto out of his thoughts. The man was pointing his gun wildly at the brown wolf, his hand shaking so badly that it was unlikely a shot would actually hit anything. The brown wolf stared him down, blood dripping from its muzzle.

The pain in the black wolf’s shoulder had lessened. Acting on instinct alone, Yamamoto used his newfound strength to leap forward and snap his jaws deep into the remaining man’s leg. The man screamed and collapsed, hugging his injured leg to his body. He dropped the gun.

Just as Yamamoto thought it was over, the brown wolf darted off the dead body and bit the unsuspecting man in the neck. The black wolf stared in shock as the man met his partner’s fate, crumpling backwards as his life force ebbed out of them.

The brown wolf bowed his head before walking over to Yamamoto. They stared at each other for a while before the black wolf looked away. He couldn’t stare into the hardness in the other’s eyes that made him want to sob uncontrollably; it was a look of such intense sadness and pain.

_I’m sorry. But it had to be done._ The brown wolf’s voice shook with regret, but Yamamoto could somehow sense that it wasn’t because of the murders he’d just committed.

Unable to respond, Yamamoto just stared at the brown wolf. The newcomer held his gaze a little longer before he turned to walk towards Gokudera’s motionless form. For a moment, terror seized Yamamoto’s chest – what would the brown wolf do to his lover?!

It was then, however, that Yamamoto noticed that the wolf was lowering his head to press his nose against Gokudera’s forehead. The silver wolf, barely conscious, lifted his head to look at the brown wolf. His expression morphed into one of complete shock.

_Tsuna…?!_

Yamamoto’s breath caught.

Tsuna?! Gokudera’s alpha?! But wasn’t he dead?!


	9. The Gift

Yamamoto’s paws felt frozen to the ground. He stared in shock at the brown-furred wolf before him, his muzzle and paws stained with blood, as he leaned over Gokudera with his nose barely touching the silver wolf’s forehead. Gokudera’s eyes were slits, as he barely had the energy to keep them open. Blood was still flowing out of the wound on his chest at an alarming rate.

_Tsuna!_ Gokudera’s growl was barely audible. Yamamoto managed to unfreeze his paws so he could walk over to where the other two wolves were huddled. He hovered at Tsuna’s side, sniffing warily at Gokudera’s wound. _How are you still alive?!_

Tsuna huffed, a small smirk twisting his muzzle upwards. _I don’t know for sure. All I know is that you gave me the strength to escape._

_You mean you were able to escape the prison as well?_ Gokudera struggled to sit up, but his wound prevented him from doing so and he growled as he slipped back into his original position. A worried whimper escaping his lips, Yamamoto moved around Tsuna and lay down near Gokudera’s head. As Tsuna went on with his anecdote, the black wolf slowly licked his lover’s ears.

_I heard that you had managed to escape; you would’ve loved hearing how the guards complained and swore._ Tsuna, apparently tired of standing, also lay down in front of the other two wolves. _When I heard that you had managed to survive, a passion to live awoke in me; I thought if you had escaped, then maybe I could too. At first, I thought there was no hope for anyone, so I gave up on living. But when I heard you survived, against all odds, I saw there was a reason to live. Together, you and I could get back at the hunters and rebuild the pack._

Yamamoto felt Gokudera’s ears flick in surprise, and a slight panic stirred in his chest. Would Gokudera really sacrifice everything they had together to run off with his alpha and seek revenge on those that had killed their pack? While he understood, he couldn’t see how the plan would lead to anything but the deaths of the last of the werewolves. He didn’t know Tsuna that well, but he didn’t want to lose Gokudera and be alone in the world again.

_Tsuna, I…_ Gokudera began before he erupted in a coughing fit. When he was done, Tsuna didn’t give him a chance to continue.

_However, I now know that that plan would be ridiculous to follow._ Tsuna turned his head to look at Yamamoto. _Especially since I see you’ve found your own pack._

Heart swelling, Yamamoto gazed at Tsuna thankfully. He seemed to have analyzed the situation with only a glance, and the black wolf was glad he understood without him having to explain. Gokudera meant the world to him, and as long as they could live life together nothing else mattered.

Speaking of Gokudera…

The silver wolf had fallen silent after his coughing fit, and, as the black wolf looked down at him, he saw with alarm that he had fallen unconscious again. Panic rising in his chest, Yamamoto began frantically licking his lover’s ears as he stood up, stress preventing him from lying down any longer. Gokudera was losing too much blood, but Yamamoto didn’t know what to do to help him. At this rate he would die, and their struggle against the Bald Suits would have all been for nothing!

_Hayato!_ Yamamoto howled desperately.

Suddenly Tsuna was there, pushing him out of the way. Panicked and confused, Yamamoto found himself growling at the smaller brown wolf; he didn’t want to be separated from Gokudera at such a critical moment! Tsuna glanced back at him, a calm determination in his eyes. _Calm yourself, friend of Gokudera._

_Calm myself?!_ Yamamoto exclaimed, his back fur rising as he tried to push himself back to his lover’s side. _How can I be calm when he’s dying right in front of me?!_

_He won’t die._ Tsuna stood determinedly in front of Gokudera, blocking Yamamoto solidly. _I won’t let him. So please, trust me… Er…_

_Yamamoto._ The black wolf supplied, suddenly feeling unsure as he looked into Tsuna’s eyes. Even though he barely knew this wolf, he found himself wanting to trust him. And if he really could save Gokudera… Yamamoto nodded his head and took a step back, though it wrenched his heart to do so. _Then please… Help him…!_

Tsuna nodded as he turned back to Gokudera. Squatting down, the brown-wolf began vigorously licking at the chest wound. His lickings apparently woke the silver wolf, who grunted in pain. As his eyes opened, he turned his head to Yamamoto. _Takeshi, what…?_

As he calmed down a bit, Yamamoto trusted himself to return to Gokudera’s side. Careful not to disturb Tsuna’s work, the black wolf walked over to his lover and licked his ears comfortingly. _I’m here, Hayato. Tsuna’s going to save you._

_He’s what?!_ Instead of the words being comforting, they seemed to agitate Gokudera. He jerked violently, disrupting Tsuna who looked up at him in surprise. The silver wolf growled down at him. _Stop, Tsuna! I won’t let you!_

_What are you saying?!_ Yamamoto tried to interrupt, not understanding why his lover would try to deny the life-saving treatment.

_I won’t let you give your life for me!_ Gokudera growled, ignoring the black wolf completely. _I can’t lose you too!_

_What?_ Yamamoto questioned, confusion blossoming in him as he looked over at Tsuna. What did Gokudera mean? How was Tsuna going to die by helping him? It didn’t make any sense!

Tsuna looked up at him, almost appearing guilty. _I suppose I didn’t tell you that the method of saving him would result in my death._

_What?!_ Yamamoto almost staggered in shock. How in the world did that work?! _Why?!_

Tsuna sat back on his haunches, looking first at Gokudera and then up at Yamamoto. _There is healing power in a werewolf’s saliva. You may have noticed that by licking your wounds it helps them heal faster. It’s not harmful to the wolf when it’s used in small doses, such as healing a cut. However, healing takes a lot out of a wolf; with a wound as fatal as Gokudera’s, healing it will kill me._

Yamamoto couldn’t believe his ears. _There’s no other way? What if I helped?_

Tsuna shook his head. _This is too much for even both of us. If one of us must die, I would prefer it be me._

_No!_ Gokudera struggled to sit up, but he was still weak. Yamamoto noticed with alarm that he was losing his energy fast. If they didn’t do something, it might be too late… The black wolf’s heart clenched. But how could he sentence Tsuna to give up his life?

_Yes,_ Tsuna replied, nudging Gokudera back into his original comfortable position. _You have something to live for, Gokudera. You both do; you have each other. I don’t have anything to live for anymore. I couldn’t leave you alone, which inspired me to escape, but now that I see that you’re not alone, I can die in peace. I’m supposed to be dead, with Kyoko, anyway._

When Yamamoto looked down at his lover, he saw an expression of such pain and sadness that he could hardly bare to look at him. Subconsciously, he pressed himself against Gokudera.

_Tsuna…_

_You can’t convince me to change my mind, Gokudera._ Tsuna looked sadly at his old friend before he briefly touched his muzzle to his cheek. _I know you’ll be happy with Yamamoto, so I’ll make sure you have the chance to live with him._

_D-don’t…_ Gokudera tried to protest further, but, to Yamamoto’s alarm, he fell unconscious again. The black wolf’s panic skyrocketed. They had to hurry, if they were going to do something, but how could he choose one wolf over another?! It wasn’t fair!

_Tsuna…!_ Yamamoto tried to interfere, but Tsuna gave him a look that stopped anything he was going to say.

From that gaze he understood everything. The brown wolf was completely fine with what he was doing. To him, dying was a small price to pay for Gokudera’s life. Underneath that, however, Yamamoto saw deep layers of pain. He remembered Gokudera’s retelling of what had happened, and how Tsuna’s mate had died. In the brown wolf’s gaze he saw the level of agony and anguish he’d had to struggle through to live without the love of his life. His expression was so sad that the black wolf wanted to curl into a ball and howl his sorrow.

_I know what it’s like to lose the most important person in the world._ Tsuna held Yamamoto’s gaze a little longer before he set to work licking Gokudera’s wound again. _Let me spare you that pain. Please._

Despite his better judgement, Yamamoto found he couldn’t argue. Tsuna _wanted_ to die. And if he was willing to do that to ensure that Gokudera lived…

The black wolf watched as, miraculously, Gokudera’s fatal wound began to heal itself. Tissue that had been ripped apart began to reattach itself; a layer of muscle began to stretch itself over where the wound had been; blood clots formed at an astonishing speed; and then, finally, skin and fur began to grow over the wound.

Within minutes, it was like Gokudera had never been shot.

However, as soon as the wound closed, Tsuna stumbled to the ground with a grunt of pain. Yamamoto hurried to the brown wolf’s side. _Tsuna! I-I… I feel like thanking you would be in bad taste, but… thank you…_

Tsuna’s mouth twitched up into a smile. _It’s not in bad taste at all! You’re welcome, Yamamoto. Take care of Gokudera._

_I will._ Yamamoto’s heart clenched with pain as he buried his muzzle into Tsuna’s head fur. He could barely stand to watch as the brown wolf’s life literally faded from his body; though he’d only known this wolf for a few moments, Yamamoto felt like he was losing a lifelong friend. He would never forget him, nor would he ever stop being thankful for his sacrifice. _Rest in peace, friend._

Tsuna truly smiled at that. It was the last thing he did before he released his last breath and his body fell limp.

Yamamoto’s throat clenched with sadness as he laid down next to the brown wolf, his head bowed. Gokudera was still unconscious, so the black wolf knew he had to give Tsuna a proper memorial in his steed. Though he didn’t know him much personally, Gokudera had told him many stories about the bravery and kindness of his alpha. Yamamoto suddenly had doubts about his decision to let him die, but he pushed them away.

Tsuna had been a good wolf, and he had chosen his end willingly. Yamamoto had no right questioning.

It seemed like hours before Gokudera stirred. Yamamoto had dreaded the moment; he knew how angry and how much pain the silver wolf would be in on realization that Tsuna had sacrificed himself. He also couldn’t help but fear that Gokudera would turn on him for letting his alpha die. He didn’t know what he would do if the silver wolf never spoke to him after everything they’d been through together.

Swallowing in nervousness, Yamamoto lifted his head to meet Gokudera’s gaze as the silver wolf struggled into consciousness. For a moment, he seemed to be disoriented; however, it wasn’t long before he noticed the motionless body in front of him. He jumped in shock, looked down at his wound, before he let out a strangled growl as he pushed himself over to Tsuna’s body.

_No! Tsuna… How could you?!_ Yamamoto flinched, even though Gokudera had been addressing his alpha. He could barely stand to look at his lover’s face – the silver wolf had always suffered through so much pain, but this was different. His expression was just so… broken.

It was then that Yamamoto came to a conclusion: even if Gokudera blamed him, even if he was angry at him for the rest of their lives, he promised himself that he would never leave the silver wolf alone. He would always be there for him, no matter what.

And, really, that’s what he’d always promised.

Reorienting himself, Yamamoto pushed himself against Gokudera and nuzzled his face into the top of his head as the silver wolf mourned his alpha.

 

\--

 

Two years later found Yamamoto in the same apartment as before, though he had more company than he’d ever thought he would in his life. Gokudera permanently lived with him, though he always kind of had, and two new animals had joined Jirou; the silver werewolf had gotten Yamamoto a bird for his birthday, which he’d named Kojirou, and in return the black wolf had gotten Gokudera a small cat that he’d named Uri. They now lived together in a happy family of five; six, if they counted Yamamoto’s father.

Introducing Gokudera to his father was slightly bumpy, if only because Yamamoto had waited so long.

“… I can’t go in there,” Gokudera said, his feet so solidly nailed to the ground outside of Takesushi that even Yamamoto couldn’t get him to budge.

“It’ll be fine, Hayato! My father is a very understanding person!” The baseball player was all out pushing on Gokudera at that point, but the silver werewolf was strong when he wanted to be.

“Have you even told him about us?” Gokudera hissed back.

“Well, no, but…”

“Then you have no idea it’ll be okay!”

Gokudera had screeched so loudly that Yamamoto’s father heard and came outside to investigate. Tears filled Tsuyoshi’s eyes and he hugged his son tightly, as it had been a while since the baseball player had visited, and then stared straight at Gokudera. “Who’s this, Takeshi? A friend?”

Yamamoto took a deep breath. “He’s my boyfriend, dad.”

“Oh, finally!” Tsuyoshi was so happy he almost cried. Yamamoto was floored; yeah, he’d told Gokudera that his father was an understanding person, but he hadn’t formally come out of the closet yet, and he’d been expecting some kind of surprise.

“You… You don’t mind?” Yamamoto stuttered. He couldn’t stop gawking at his father as the man circled Gokudera. He could see the silver-haired werewolf getting increasingly more nervous as Tsuyoshi scrutinized him.

“Of course I don’t mind!” Tsuyoshi shouted so loudly that Gokudera jumped. “I always knew you were a little different… not that that matters!”

Yamamoto laughed then, his worries disappearing. He watched as his father stopped circling Gokudera and instead smiled warmly at him. “Welcome to the family, son!”

Gokudera looked like he was going to cry. “T-thank you, sir!”

The werewolf then bowed deeply to Tsuyoshi, who just laughed. Like father like son, Yamamoto laughed, too. He was so happy that Gokudera had been accepted without any resistance – a small part of him had worried that his father wouldn’t like him, or find him overbearing. He didn’t know what he would do if Tsuyoshi forbade him from ever seeing Gokudera again.

As it was, they hit it off. As soon as they made it inside of the sushi bar, Tsuyoshi fired off a round of questions that made Yamamoto’s head spin. However, Gokudera answered right back, slowly getting louder as he got more comfortable with Yamamoto’s dad. Before the baseball player knew it, his lover and his dad were best friends and it was like they’d known each other for years.

They stayed the night, exchanging stories and news. Though neither werewolf mentioned their secret, Gokudera complained to Tsuyoshi about Yamamoto’s broken shoulder, not knowing that the baseball player had neglected to tell his father about it. Tsuyoshi stared at his son, hard.

“How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Um…” Yamamoto shot Gokudera a pleading look. The werewolf just looked indignant, as if it wasn’t his fault that the baseball player was in the uncomfortable position. “I didn’t want to worry you?”

Yamamoto’s father didn’t say anymore, though the way he set his jaw told the baseball player that he was upset that he didn’t tell him about his injury. Guilt consuming him, Yamamoto found he couldn’t meet his father’s eye for the rest of the night. It was only in the morning, when he and Gokudera were preparing to leave, that Tsuyoshi brought it up while Gokudera was in the shower.

“Takeshi, what’s the real reason why you didn’t tell me about your injury? From what I wagered from Hayato, it was pretty serious.”

Silently reprimanding Gokudera for telling his father everything, Yamamoto chewed his lip. He couldn’t tell his father the real reason, not without telling him about the fact that he and Gokudera were werewolves. Gokudera living with him had been trouble enough, but…

A lightbulb went off in Yamamoto’s brain. He smiled cheekily as he answered with a fake coyness, “Well, Hayato was living with me at the time, and I didn’t feel prepared to tell you about our relationship yet… Knowing you, you would just barge in while we were asleep, and I really didn’t want you to find out like that. I wanted to tell you myself.”

For a moment, Tsuyoshi didn’t answer. However, a smile soon broke out on his face and he patted his son on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass Hayato,” Yamamoto laughed, though he wasn’t sure exactly what Gokudera would be embarrassed about.

His father seemed to believe it, though, and he just laughed along good-naturedly. When he quieted down, he sent his son a soft smile. “Something’s changed about you, Takeshi. But I think it’s a good thing.”

“Uh, thanks dad!” Yamamoto said a bit too loudly. He’d flinched when his father had begun, worried that his super-attentive father had somehow picked up on the fact that he was a werewolf. However, he pushed away his worries – there was no way he could _ever_ find out about something like that. Right?

“What’s with all the shouting?” Gokudera grumbled as he walked into the room. His hair was flat with water and the smell of shampoo wafted from him.

“Sorry,” Yamamoto laughed, his previous frustration with the other completely washed away. He pulled the smaller man to him and kissed his temple, breathing in his fresh scent. Gokudera just grumbled something about him being an idiot while Tsuyoshi laughed.

“Well, just know I’m here for both of you boys. Thanks for dropping by!”

Yamamoto left his childhood home with a weight off his chest. He’d been so worried about how his father would perceive Gokudera, but the encounter had gone so well as to exceed his expectations. Nothing made him happier than knowing that his father approved of his new family. He shot Gokudera a loving look as they walked home, though the other just raised his eyebrow at him. Nevertheless, he didn’t remove his hand when Yamamoto dared to lace his fingers through his.

The black werewolf couldn’t be more in love.

 

\--

 

The only thing that threatened to ruin his good mood was Takeuchi. Yamamoto _knew_ that his baseball captain had seen him transform, knew he knew what he was, but two years had passed without the man mentioning anything. The day he’d gone back to work, after taking time off to get through the final days of transformation and help Gokudera through his mourning, Takeuchi had acted like everything was normal. Though he thought he should be relieved, Yamamoto couldn’t stop thinking that the captain was slightly more awkward with him. He noticed that he hardly ever spent time alone with him anymore. It was like he didn’t want to deal with what Yamamoto had become… It hurt Yamamoto badly, since Takeuchi was his best friend, but he didn’t know how to address him about it.

How could he expect Takeuchi to accept that he was a monster?

After a few days, Yamamoto couldn’t take it anymore. He hated when people were uncomfortable with him, and he was really bad at dealing with them avoiding him. He loved people, but lord knew he had insecurities with people not liking him, and so he knew it was time to address the problem; after all, that had always worked with Gokudera.

At the end of baseball practice at the end of the week, while the team was showering and changing in the locker rooms, Yamamoto found himself showering next to Takeuchi. The two were known for taking extra-long showers, and so all the other players were out in the main locker room changing while Yamamoto and Takeuchi stood alone in the showers. It was the first time the werewolf had been alone with the baseball captain since the transformation, so he jumped on the opportunity.

“Takeuchi,” Yamamoto murmured, purposefully keeping his voice low so the other men wouldn’t hear him. “Takeuchi, please, talk to me. I need to know where I stand with you and… what you think of me now.”     

The baseball captain was silent for a long time. Just when Yamamoto thought he wouldn’t answer, and felt his heart sink, Takeuchi answered in just as low whispers, “… I don’t know, Moto. It’s still so hard for me to believe what I saw.”

The use of the nickname was reassuring to Yamamoto. He hoped that at least was some kind of good sign. He tried to give a good-natured laugh, but it came out strangled and awkward. “I can’t really believe it myself.”

“How did it happen?” Takeuchi was looking at Yamamoto now. “You definitely weren’t like that before.”

Yamamoto hesitated. Did he really want to tell him about Gokudera? After he’d guarded the secret for so long? However, the werewolf soon found the whole story spilling out of him, like water after a dam was removed. He told his captain about finding Gokudera in the alleyway, about taking care of him in his apartment and finding out his secret in the process. He told him about the werewolf hunters and how Gokudera’s attack had ended in his transformation into a werewolf. He left out the part about him falling in love with Gokudera, as he felt he wasn’t ready to come out of the closet to Takeuchi yet, but told him about Tsuna’s noble sacrifice saving them from the werewolf hunters. As he told the story, Yamamoto felt a heavy burden lift from his shoulders. It felt so good to share the secret with someone other than Gokudera.

Takeuchi listened without interrupting. When Yamamoto finished, he chuckled uncomfortably and shook his head. “So you weren’t delusional when you told me you were taking care of a werewolf.”

“I promise you I’m still the same person I once was.” Yamamoto was practically begging at this point. He didn’t know what he would do without Takeuchi’s friendship and support, and he couldn’t tell how the captain was taking the story. “My being a wolf once a month doesn’t change who I am.”

The baseball captain met Yamamoto’s eyes uncertainly. He searched his gaze, though Yamamoto had no idea what he was looking for or what he found. “What happened to the werewolf? The other one, I mean.”

Hesitating again, Yamamoto looked down at his body as the water from the shower streamed down it. It looked human enough… How could the ability to transform into a wolf make him so unhuman? And did it, really? He wasn’t a monster. Monsters were deranged creatures that attacked and killed humans; Yamamoto wasn’t like that. He was still the kind person he once was. He was still _human_.

“Yamamoto?”

The baseball player flinched at Takeuchi’s voice as it drew him out of his thoughts. He realized that he’d never answered his captain’s question and he looked him in the eye again as he spoke up. “Oh, he still lives with me. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You’re too kind for your own good, Yamamoto,” Takeuchi sighed as he looked down at his body in the shower as well. He stared silently for a moment before he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “You should have just left him in the alley.”

Yamamoto’s heart clenched at the words. Takeuchi was running from the problem – for whatever reason he was refusing to accept that the werewolf before him was still the same Moto that he’d known for years. He wished that someone he didn’t know, someone that Yamamoto _loved_ , had just died on the street so he didn’t have to deal with what Yamamoto had become. Anger and pain rose in the baseball player’s stomach; he had had the same thoughts and had been depressed and alone for the longest time before he finally came to peace with his actions. All he wanted was Takeuchi to _accept_ him – him and Gokudera. After all, he’d have to tell him about his lover eventually.

Reaching out, Yamamoto grabbed Takeuchi’s shoulder tightly, surprising the man into looking up at him. Yamamoto’s eyes were narrowed and he didn’t think he’d ever been more serious in his life. “Takeuchi, you would really wish that someone was dead just so you wouldn’t have to deal with something that doesn’t even have to be a problem?”

Takeuchi flinched; it wasn’t big, but Yamamoto felt it. “Moto, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?!” Yamamoto realized his voice was rising and he fought to keep it low. “I will never regret finding that man in the alley – nothing you say will make me think otherwise. This doesn’t have to come between us; we can still be _friends_. I’m still human, I’m still Yamamoto. Why can’t you accept me?”

There was a long silence. Yamamoto found himself breathing unevenly and his grip tightening on Takeuchi’s shoulder as he waited anxiously for a response. Suddenly, however, Takeuchi reached up and gripped the werewolf’s hand in his own. As their gazes met, Yamamoto was surprised by the fire burning in his captain’s eyes.

“Prove to me you’re still Yamamoto.”

“What?”

“You say you haven’t changed. Prove it.” Takeuchi shoved Yamamoto off of him and stood there boldly in the shower, his hands on his hips. “We’re going to have a batting tournament. If you’re still Yamamoto, you can easily beat me.”

Yamamoto gaped at his captain. That was it?! All he needed as reassurance was a baseball competition? However, as Takeuchi began to walk away, the werewolf caught the teasing smile he sent his way. Suddenly he understood, and a big smile erupted on his face.

Takeuchi had never hated him, nor had wanted not to be friends anymore. He just wasn’t sure what exactly had changed, and how he was supposed to deal with it. By bringing both of them back onto familiar turf, and away from the supernatural, Takeuchi was establishing grounds so he could understand Yamamoto as he was now. The baseball captain had been waiting all along for the werewolf to come to him so he wouldn’t overstep any boundaries.

Warmth grew in Yamamoto’s chest and, despite himself, competition. He was so happy that everything was going to be okay, and of course the challenge of the game excited him. He smirked as Takeuchi walked past. “Fine – I’m not going to lose!”

He heard the captain’s laughter from the other side of the locker room.

 

\--

 

After he reestablished friendship with Takeuchi, Yamamoto’s life became considerably easier. He was free to focus back on baseball and his relationship with Gokudera, and the captain was the first to jump to Yamamoto’s defense when he requested time off every month from the coach. He of course didn’t say why, but the werewolf didn’t think the coach ever would’ve agreed if it hadn’t been for Takeuchi’s support.

It was exactly what he had hoped for, and he found himself truly happy for the first time in a long while.

Things were still a little delicate in his relationship, however. They hardly talked about Tsuna. Though they remembered him fondly when they did, it was still a sensitive subject for Gokudera. They both knew the silver-haired werewolf hadn’t completely gotten over the fact that Yamamoto had let Tsuna die.

One night, the topic came up almost by mistake. Yamamoto was talking about a friend he’d had in high school when Gokudera suddenly became quiet. Recognizing his lover’s change in mood, the black-haired werewolf shut up and looked at the other in concern. “… Hayato? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” The response was too quick to be true.

Yamamoto reached out to wrap his arms around Gokudera as he pulled him to his chest. The werewolf settled in comfortably enough, but he didn’t touch Yamamoto in ways that he usually would. The baseball player buried his face into Gokudera’s hair, trying to stay calm as pain bubbled up in his chest. He knew he had no right to start crying, but it hurt him so much when his lover would do this to him. “Are you thinking about Tsuna again?”

“He was always there for me, like your friend. He saved me when no one else bothered to. You’re the only other person who’s done that for me.” Gokudera’s head was buried in Yamamoto’s chest, as it always was when he opened himself up. As always, the baseball player wished he could see his face.

“What can I do to get you to forgive me?” Yamamoto whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to control his breathing.

Gokudera sighed heavily before he, to Yamamoto’s surprise, leaned up and kissed him. As the baseball player leaned into the kiss, he felt the silver-haired werewolf’s hand stroking the back of his head, long fingers tangling in the hair there. When they broke apart, Gokudera’s emerald eyes were burning into Yamamoto’s, and he couldn’t help but feel strongly attracted to them.

“All you need to do is keep doing what you’re doing. I’m a stubborn asshole, but your love is reaching me; I want you to know that. You’re the only person in the world I love, and the only one who can help me get through this. I just need more time.”

Yamamoto found himself crying. He kissed Gokudera again, a small smile on his face. When they parted, he rested his forehead on the other’s. “I’ll always love you, Hayato – that’s something you can always count on.”

“You’re sappy as hell,” Gokudera teased, a playful light now dancing in his eyes.

Laughing, Yamamoto stroked his lover’s cheek gently. “Whatever it takes to get my love across to you.”

“Jesus, Takeshi, stop!” A pillow was thrown in his face. “I think I’m going to explode from fucking sappiness overload.”

“Okay, okay!” Yamamoto laughed, rising his hands in surrender. “Just know that I mean it.”

Gokudera rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t have made that clearer.”

Chuckling, Yamamoto just cuddled closer to his lover and closed his eyes as he felt Gokudera adjusting to the position. That was the most they’d talked about Tsuna since he’d died, and the black-haired werewolf was happy to know that they were making progress. He knew it would take time, but to know that Gokudera was working to forgive him was all that mattered to him.

He knew that, someday, they would be the happiest couple on earth, despite their werewolf qualities, and nothing would get in their way again.

 

\--

Yamamoto was running with Gokudera in wolf form through the dark streets of Tokyo, as they always did on their anniversary, when they found her. It had been five years since the black-haired werewolf had asked his lover to marry him and they had flown halfway across the world on his baseball salary to have their wedding. Takeuchi had been their best man, and on their honeymoon they had visited the grave site they had bought for Tsuna to gain his blessing. It had been a full moon, then, which only seemed fitting – after all, the werewolf would always be with them.

It remained the best moment of Yamamoto’s life.

Relishing the cold wind in his fur as they ran towards the park they had claimed for their anniversary spot, the black wolf looked over at his husband. Gokudera looked a hundred times better than when Yamamoto had first found him – he was still skinny, but he had filled out his form and his ribs no longer stuck out. He was eating much better than he ever had, and he’d gotten a job as a cook that gave him something to do during the day.

The activity had been a better cure than medicine for him.

_The hell are you looking at?_ Gokudera growled. Yamamoto only smiled sheepishly at getting caught before he went back to looking where he was going.

The park was shrouded in moonlight when they arrived. The grass was wet with dew under their paws, and the breeze ruffled their fur, but the beauty and tranquility of the place was always what made the trip worth it. Trotting to their usual spot, Yamamoto threw himself to the ground and pressed his muzzle into Gokudera’s fur as the silver wolf joined him.

Their love was just as strong, after eight years of being together, and they had long sense adapted to their new life. Yamamoto stopped being such a dolt about the transformation cycle, and had managed to keep their werewolf selves secret from everyone besides Takeuchi. The baseball player’s captain now often came to dinner, having long sense known about Gokudera and their relationship. The two strangely got along, despite the fact that the silver werewolf always claimed that Takeuchi annoyed him. They visited Yamamoto’s father often, and Tsuyoshi had been the first to know and help plan the wedding. Their pets were alive and kicking, though white was starting to develop around Jirou’s muzzle, and Yamamoto truly believed he was the happiest man in the world. He didn’t think his life could get any better.

_Do you hear that?_ Gokudera muttered suddenly, sitting up from their comfortable position. Yamamoto had been dozing, and he now strained his ears to try and catch what had caught his lover’s attention.

A thin wailing soon reached him. It was high-pitched, and the helplessness of it immediately pulled on Yamamoto’s heart strings. _It sounds like some kind of small animal._

_It almost sounds like…_ Gokudera trailed off as he stood and wandered towards the noise. Wondering what his lover could be thinking, Yamamoto stood as well and followed after him.

The noise got louder as they approached a bush at the end of the park. Yamamoto was still following Gokudera, though his nose was to the ground as he tried to pick up a scent of the creature. As they rounded the bush, the scent filled the black wolf’s nose and he had identified it just as they stumbled across its small body lying in a soft patch of grass.

_A wolf pup!_ Yamamoto gasped, staring down at it in disbelief. Its fur was a pretty auburn, and the puffiness of it showed the black wolf that it was a fairly newborn puppy. This conclusion was strengthened by the fact that the pup’s eyes were still closed and its little teeth were just starting to grow in.

_A female,_ Gokudera added on as he sniffed and prodded the small creature with a paw before retreating back a few steps. _She can’t be more than a few days old._

_How do you think she got here?_ Yamamoto wondered aloud as he laid down by the small puppy. She was still wailing, her pink maw wide open, and the baseball player could see that she was shivering. He almost instinctively wrapped his body around her and began licking her comfortingly. The puppy automatically curled into his stomach, her pitiful wails silencing as she blindly batted at Yamamoto’s fur with her small paws.

_I don’t know._ Gokudera stood an awkward distance away, watching the two of them. Yamamoto met his gaze, but for once couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

_We can’t leave her here._

Gokudera sighed. _I was worried you were going to say that._

_Hayato…_ Yamamoto couldn’t explain it. The moment he’d set eyes on the little puppy, he’d felt an overwhelming urge to protect her and care for her. Maybe it was the fact he was a wolf currently, but he knew there was no way he could just get up and walk away from the small creature. He wrapped his body tighter around her. _We have room in the apartment. She’ll grow up with us, and Jirou, Uri, and Kojirou. We’ll bring her here with us, so she can roam around – we know from experience that wolves need space to move. And if she gets too big for the apartment, we could always—_

_Takeshi,_ Gokudera interrupted as he shifted his paws. _You haven’t noticed, have you?_

Yamamoto tilted his head to the side, confused. _Noticed what?_

_Her scent. I mean, you haven’t really identified it._

_Hayato, what are you getting at?_ Yamamoto didn’t like the way that Gokudera was shifting around uncomfortably. Why was he so hesitant on getting another pet? Sure, she was a wild animal, but if she was raised by a couple of werewolves who could communicate with her when they transformed, surely it couldn’t be that bad…

_She’s a werewolf._ Gokudera looked down at the small puppy nuzzled comfortably into Yamamoto’s belly. _She’s fucking human, Takeshi._

Yamamoto took a breath. He now understood why Gokudera was so hesitant: they wouldn’t be getting a pet, but a child. It brought up doubts of his own. Were they really ready to start a family? Was _he_ ready to start a family? He had no idea where to begin being a dad. However, his fierce urge to protect the small werewolf didn’t go away; instead, it intensified.

_Then that’s more of a reason we can’t leave her._ Yamamoto drew himself into a sitting position to argue his point better, wrapping a paw around the small body at his side. _I don’t know how she got here, or how she’s a werewolf, but we’re the only people who can raise her – we’re the only ones who know what she’s going through._

Gokudera continued to fidget. _I know that, but—_

_But what?_

_I don’t know how to be a father!_ Gokudera all but snarled, causing the small werewolf to start crying again. Yamamoto gave him a disapproving look before he took a moment to lick her fur, calming her into a sleepy silence. He then looked back up at his husband as the silver wolf continued, quieter now. _I was abandoned at a very small age. I have nothing to go off of – I have no damn idea how to raise a kid. I don’t want her to end up like me._

Yamamoto whined, not liking how Gokudera was talking about himself. Even after all this time he still had such a low self-esteem. He decided not to comment on it, however, and instead thumped his tail invitingly on the ground. _Hey, come here and sit with us._

Gokudera hesitated, but he eventually walked over and gingerly laid down in front of Yamamoto. He was close enough that he was enclosing the baby werewolf between the two of them in a soft and warm blanket of fur. The puppy yawned before she snuggled into Gokudera’s fur and fell asleep. The silver wolf just looked down at her, as if he didn’t know what to do about it.

Yamamoto leaned over and licked his ears. _I have no idea how to be a dad either – and I have a model to go off of! I think it’s different for every family, and that it’s something we have to figure out together. Besides, we’re starting the first ever werewolf family! Of course it’s going to be different than a regular old human family!_

Gokudera glanced at him uncertainly before looking back down at the sleeping bundle at his chest. Yamamoto watched as the silver wolf leaned down to gently lick and nuzzle the small puppy’s head; he nearly burst from the warmth and happiness that swelled up in him. Gokudera could claim all he wanted that he wouldn’t be a good father, but Yamamoto thought otherwise.

Catching him staring, Gokudera growled at him. If he was in his human form, Yamamoto thought he might’ve been blushing. _The fuck are you looking at?_

_Hey, watch your language,_ Yamamoto chided playfully.

Gokudera sighed. _You’re definitely not going to let her go, are you?_

_Nope! And I was thinking we could call her Amber._

_Of course you already named her._ Gokudera rolled his eyes at Yamamoto before he looked down at the small werewolf again. The black wolf thought he still saw doubt lingering in his eyes, so he opened his mouth to say something convincing.

However, the puppy beat him to it. Amber, in that moment, woke up and opened her eyes for the first time. Her eyes were a beautiful, bright hazel and she looked up at Gokudera with what could only be described as a smile on her face. She blinked her eyes cutely as she snuggled into Gokudera’s chest fur, her stubby tail swishing happily.

Yamamoto would’ve paid money to record the look on Gokudera’s face as his doubt was completely flushed away to be replaced with affection for his newfound daughter.

Happiness flooded through him as the baseball player wrapped his body around Gokudera and their daughter. There was now a zero percent chance of leaving Amber behind, and he could only feel love washing through him as the three of them officially became a family.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, isn’t Gokudera the mistrusting character ;D I’m really excited about writing this story; I like the plot I’ve come up with and hopefully you guys will, too! Gokudera’s past is a mystery for now, but it will all be revealed in time.  
> Thanks for reading!


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